The Summer Wind
by JuliaBC
Summary: WDZ. A retelling of the Estevan storyline. Estevan de la Cruz comes to Los Angeles to shake things up, but never does he expect that the most changes will happen to him, of all people. Diego/Margarita/Estevan love triangle, of sorts. Varying POVs.
1. The Way It Should Begin

The Summer Wind by JuliaBC

Chapter One

A/N: I just want to say, this is a very heavy AU, even though it's also heavily based on the episodes.

The way I portray Margarita...I see this in her. I believe all that I say in regards to her choices in life. But you might not agree with that 'translation' of the character.

 ** _Don Diego de la Vega_**

Diego had three thoughts that alerted him to the fact that something terrifying was happening.

One was that Estevan was spending quite a lot of time showing off a bag of jewels he'd brought with him.

Two was that he'd danced more than two dances with Margarita Cortazar, and if he didn't watch out, she would be the talk of the little pueblo in the next few days, for reasons that might be detrimental to her reputation.

Three was that he'd pawned Margarita off on Diego.

Three was that Margarita looked beautiful, as always. Three was that Margarita's dress was fluttering between his legs in a way that made him feel dizzy. Three was that she was laughing at something his father told them in passing and he didn't remember ever being affected by her laugh thusly before tonight. It was like liquid fire was being poured into his veins at the sound. There was a rushing noise in his ears as he looked down at her, sipping a glass of punch with her lips pursed.

He'd never seen her like this before.

Correction. He had seen her like this before; Margarita was always one to enjoy a fiesta, and enjoy it very heartily.

But he had never actually seen Margarita as he saw her now.

As a woman, not a childhood friend.

He remembered Estevan's parting words as he shoved Margarita into Diego's arms. Beautiful young ladies and handsome young men belong to each other.

Was that all it had taken?

Some well chosen words; not even a suggestion, to make Diego think of possibilities with Margarita.

Real possibilities.

After all, Margarita had never been one to dismiss the fake Diego. She had taken his changes when he returned to Los Angeles in stride, but perhaps that was simply because she had changed herself.

Though she still loved life, since her mother had passed, there was a quietness to her that surprised all of those around her. She had once been predicted to be the first to marry (he had even received a letter from his father saying that a handsome stranger had come to Los Angeles and was about to sweep Margarita away from them all, taking her back to Spain with him, but Margarita had quietly declined his proposal…as she had declined every other proposal that had come her way in the years after her mother's death.)

Diego was, maybe, not surprised at this. He had trained himself to see people better since he became Zorro, and now when he looked at Margarita, he saw fear.

She lived for the party. She loved the party. But only because the party ended. Only because she could go home to her mother's hacienda, because her comforting father waited for her at the night's end, and not a mustached husband.

So it was simple to see why she was choosing to remain alone. Why the many men who'd dared to ask for her hand were given a sweet, but final, refusal.

"I asked her to marry me, and she looks at me and says, what for?"

The words of an old friend came to Diego and he looked at Margarita ever closer as they spun among the dancers. They hadn't been spoken about Margarita, but Diego was thinking that they might apply…

Margarita already had fun, adventure and love in her life. What could marriage give her besides children? And she was one to visit the missions and play with the Indian children, so that was taken care of quite easily.

Diego tightened his grip on Margarita's hand; she didn't have small hands as did Rosarita and Moneta, other girls from his childhood. Margarita's hands did not match Diego's in largeness, but it made quite an impression on him to look down at them, and realize that his did not entirely dwarf hers as was usually the case.

The dance floor grew more crowded and Diego, with the gentlest push on her waist, guided her smoothly toward him, away from the jostling men behind her.

"It's quite a party, considering that it is so last minute," Margarita commented.

"My uncle made sure every person he met along the way was invited," Diego said. "Such as his fellow travelers, and even the coach driver. The more, the merrier was his philosophy, I believe."

"It's a lovely philosophy," Margarita agreed, her eyes twinkling up at Diego.

"Si," Diego said, finding words failed him.

Then silence again fell over the couple. Margarita glanced shyly up at him a few times, as if testing her courage.

"What is it, Margarita?" He asked. "Do not hesitate to speak."

She flushed as he continued to spin her around, the bouncing movements of the dance carrying them across the floor. "Your uncle…do you know why never married?"

Diego found that he couldn't answer. Obvious things sprung to his mind.

He never had the inclination.

He never had the guts.

He never found the right woman. He just pretended to.

"Well…why do you ask?" He stumbled, wondering why her question troubled him so. Did he really mind her interest in his uncle? After all, it could only be good thing for Margarita to show interest in something new, something solid.

But Estevan! He was such a scoundrel, a true thief of women's hearts.

Diego tried to convince himself that that was why her interest bothered him, but he hadn't quite made it to that point when his father saved him, as usual. He broke into the dance, bowing to Margarita.

"A thousand pardons!" Don Alejandro announced, and Diego automatically kissed Margarita's hand; this was the protocol for breaking dances.

His father's eyes widened; he also saw Margarita hesitate, as though wondering why his father was breaking into their dance. Si, he asked many women to dance, but not usually in the middle of his son's dance! After all, Alejandro was like all of the other fathers in the pueblo, he wanted grandchildren.

"Oh, no, no, no, no, no," Alejandro stuttered, his eyes also widening at how this must appear. Diego found himself stifling a laugh at the picture they must make. "I must speak with you, Diego. It is urgent. You will excuse us?"

Everything was explained.

Margarita relaxed visibly. Perhaps she thought Don Alejandro would try to convince her that now was the time to announce her engagement to Diego. After all, he had tried to pull almost the same trick two years ago with Magdalena…

"Of course, Don Alejandro," Margarita replied. Diego saw her eyes drift into the crowd as he kissed her hand. "Gracias, Margarita," he managed to say before his father dragged him off.

He saw that she was claimed by another partner before he'd even exited the dance floor.

For some reason, this troubled him.

 ** _Margarita Cortazar_**

Diego walked away with his father and Luis Ramirez walked over. "Can we finish our dance now?" He asked, a smile on his face.

"Of course," she said. "I did not know so many of my dances would be interrupted this evening!"

"You might have prepared for it, had that been the case," Luis teased.

"I don't think any woman could prepare for it," Margarita countered. "After all, I don't think any person at all, male or female, could prepare for the whirlwind that is Don Estevan de la Cruz!"

Luis grinned, ducking a branch as they danced. "But it's a very pleasant whirlwind, I can tell that you think so, so do not deny it, Margarita!"

"I will not deny," she answered. "And my father likes him too."

Luis's eyes sparked at her. "Is this interest from Margarita Cortazar, the woman who has broken hearts all over the world?"

"How can that be, when I have never even left California, or even Los Angeles in the past three years?" Margarita scolded, her cheeks coloring.

"Ah, but there was the man from Spain, and the French one," Luis said. "Or was he Russian?"

Margarita rolled her eyes. "He wasn't Russian or French," she said, ducking her head. "He just had a strong accent. He was as Spanish as you or I am."

"Well, I suppose you'd know," Luis said slyly as the song ended, and he planted a kiss on her hand. "Speaking of, isn't it time for me to propose again?"

"You have asked me to marry you five times in two years," Margarita said. "I'm afraid that my answer hasn't changed."

"Well, could you at least spare me another dance?" Luis asked.

"I don't think so," Margarita said. "My apologies, but I want to go over to where my father is."

"Of course," Luis said, and guided her across the room; another dance had already started.

Margarita saw the glint of light all the way from across the room. Jewels; it had to be jewels. A diamond, gleaming in the moon and fire that lit the night sky.

She inhaled, almost seeing her mother, preparing for a dance, decked out in diamonds and rubies.

She was ten again, trying on the jewelry and being scolded. "No, that is for when you marry, Margarita!"

"But I do not want to marry," Margarita said under her breath. "I want to stay at home with father."

"What's that?" Luis asked as they neared her father, and Don Estevan, who stood talking to him holding the most brilliant jewel she'd ever seen.

She wanted the diamond.

"Nothing," she swore, as they reached her father. "Gracias, Luis."

"What's this?" Don Estevan exclaimed. "You have found a replacement for me?"

"No, of course not," Margarita said, laughing at his mock offended air. "But someone has to dance with me when you are busy."

"That was what Diego was for," Don Estevan returned, the diamond still flat in his palm.

Margarita reached to touch it, aware of the faux pas she was making, as it was in his hand, and neither were gloved, and they were not dancing as to make it acceptable.

Luis whistled, long and low. "That is a beautiful jewel," he said admiringly.

"Si, but it's no matter for you to worry over," Don Estevan said, effectively dismissing Luis, who amiably bowed and walked away.

"Is it a diamond?" Margarita breathed, turning it over in Don Estevan's palm. She felt his eyes on her hair and didn't care that he was staring at her.

"Well, I wouldn't call it that," Don Estevan said bashfully.

Margarita withdrew her hand from the diamond reluctantly, feeling her father's gaze on her hand now.

"You like the diamond, Margarita?" He asked. "It was also the one I most admired."

"It's like ice, and fire, all in one," Margarita murmured.

"I wish to repeat my offer," Don Marcos announced, and Margarita startled. "For the whole jewel pouch."

Don Estevan tucked the jewel away, an almost smug look on his face. "Please, Don Marcos, I do not wish to sound adamant, but that is not the reason I showed you the jewels! I'm not sure I can bring myself to part with them. Any of them!"

"But you will be returning to Spain! You can buy others! At least sell me the one diamond I admired, for my daughter," her father urged, and Margarita found that she was just as eager as he was for Don Estevan to accept the offer. Her father loved to buy her pretty things; this was one of the ones she'd truly wanted as well.

"It is the most beautiful stone I have ever seen," Margarita confessed, her eyes falling to where he'd placed the pouch in his vest.

"Ah, then perhaps you can understand my reluctance to part with it," Don Estevan answered, eyes twinkling.

Margarita felt keen disappointment.

"Suppose I offered one thousand, five hundred pesos," her father said baldly, his arm going around Margarita's waist as if to show Don Estevan how much his daughter meant to him; how close they were, what a disappointment it would be to her.

"Would that help you to change your mind?" Her father finished, his eyes on Don Estevan's face.

Now Don Estevan hesitated, showing rare patience in choosing his words. "Fifteen hundred pesos? Well, I—"

 ** _Don Estevan de la Cruz_**

"It's alright, I'm not going to beat you," he told the deaf-mute, frustrated that his careful deal might have just been ruined by the man's clumsiness. After the whole evening of baiting Don Marcos! Fifteen hundred pesos for an imitation!

He felt a hand sneak inside his vest and wasn't surprised.

Margarita leaned forward, her words almost panicked. "He cannot hear you," she told him.

Estevan considered the words and wondered how to call him back there then, settling for an impatient gesture to show the forgotten wine bottle.

What a clumsy trick! Any one could have pulled that one off, on anyone but Estevan de la Cruz, who'd perfected such things.

His hand slid inside Bernardo's jacket (was he called Bernardo or was he thinking of Emanuela's servant in Madrid?) and took the pouch back.

Ah, only a master could pickpocket the thief!

Bernardo slipped away again and Don Marcos's arm left his daughter's waist as he stepped closer to Don Estevan, and he knew that the man was about to raise his offer. Well, now his conscience pricked him. They were not worth quite that much. Maybe he'd accept five hundred pesos. That wouldn't hurt his conscience.

"Really, Don Marcos, I'll have to be honest with you," "I do not think the diamond is worth fifteen hundred pesos, I mean, in the regular market in Spain," he finished, his only thought, I think I should be lucky to receive a hundred pesos, in Spain.

Unfortunately, his feint didn't work. "I am not discussing what it is worth on the regular market, I am discussing what it is worth to me, here, in California."

Well! His conscience was quite comfortable with those kind of words! If you were to place personal worth on things, why, anything could be worth fifteen hundred pesos!

He almost gave in.

Margarita's smile beckoned him to make the deal. After all, who could it hurt?

"I'll bring it to your hacienda tomorrow," he decided upon, after many words warred in his brain. "You can look it over then, see if it is still worth that much in the light of day."

* * *

The evening's events eased his conscience entirely. As Estevan sat in the sala, long after Diego and Alejandro had made their good nights and slipped up the bed, he considered the whole matter.

He'd heard the talk at the party. This Zorro…he was supposed to be a Robin Hood type of figure. He didn't rob people! Indeed, from what he heard from the slightly frantic guests, any time that Zorro had stolen, only days later had the real Zorro appeared to set the record straight.

Zorro was not a thief.

Was Estevan to expect another visit from the bandito, then? The real one, if this one had indeed been fake?

He blew the candle out in the sala and slipped onto the patio, looking up at the night sky. He realized that he now had no reason to go to Margarita's hacienda, and he was disappointed. She was a lovely girl. He might as well get…acquainted with her if he was, indeed, going to spend quite some time in Los Angeles.

 ** _Margarita Cortazar_**

"The jewels…are they irretrievable, do you think?" Margarita asked her father on the drive home. After Estevan had been robbed, she had been unable to see the dashing caballero again. With Zorro's appearance, the party had become frantic, and when Zorro had left, the party had quieted to the point of death. People had made their adioses with an almost somber air, as if regretting the end of the evening.

"Considering things, I would have to say yes," her father replied. "I do not think anyone but God could retrieve something The Fox stole."

"It's quite a new thing," Margarita chanced to say. "Why should Zorro suddenly turn to petty theft?"

Her father sighed. "You saw those jewels, Margarita. They were incomparable to others like them. Obviously, he must have been a guest at the party, he saw them too and decided that he would have them when Estevan wouldn't sell!"

"I suppose," Margarita sighed. "I regret losing the diamond."

"So do I," Don Marcos said, patting her hand. "Sweet Margarita. You would have looked just like your mother in diamonds. I…" He glanced sideways at her. "It's a pity that you will only get to wear her diamonds when you become betrothed."

Margarita heard the hint in his voice. She knew how her father felt, but she shifted in her seat to avoid speaking about it further. Was she that transparent? Could he tell that she only wanted the diamond so that she could wear the jewels without marrying? "Si. But I would not care to break tradition."

Don Marcos sighed. "Of course not. But you would not have to, if…It wasn't for lack of offers, Margarita."

"It was from lack of interest," she replied. "I cannot marry a man that doesn't engage my whole soul, my entire being, like the way you captured mother's."

"I hesitate to put it that strongly," her father said. "Phelicia loved me, for certain, as I loved her."

"It was more than that," Margarita murmured. "I saw it in her eyes, the way Mama always spoke about you."

"You're going to give your father very pleasant dreams," Don Marcos responded.

She fell silent; his tone of voice suggested that was desired right now but her father would never say it outright. He didn't like to talk about his late wife unless he was the one to bring her up. It hurt too much otherwise. Margarita could understand that, but she couldn't understand how one day her father would hold her close and the next try to push her out of the nest.

They reached the hacienda and he helped her down from the carriage, as Santiago jumped forward to take care of the horses and carriage.

"Gracias," her father said to Vincento, who nodded as he jumped onto the carriage to drive it away.

Her father took her arm, tucking it to his side as he led her through the gate. "Margarita, Estevan is a charming man," he began. "I do not think it would harm anything, and surely no one would talk, if you were to accept should he…come by tomorrow asking if you wanted to go for a ride."

Margarita stopped dead in her tracks, and her father halted also. "What do you mean?" She asked.

"He asked me, before you came over, if he could come by in the next few days," Don Marcos explained. "I said, of course. He wondered if you were the type to ride, and I said yes. You do not mind, surely? I thought you enjoyed his company. You danced more than two dances with him in the beginning of the evening."

"Of course I don't mind," she denied, starting to walk again. "I was just surprised…father, Don Estevan told me the most marvelous story. That's why I gave him the second dance. I wanted to hear the end."

"Don't apologize, my dear," her father said. "He is quite a charming man. I'm glad you enjoyed his company."

They went their separate ways once they reached the top of the stairs. When Margarita entered her room, Diana waited there.

"Did you have a nice time?" The mother of three asked, darting forward to help her out of her dress.

The fastenings on the back came first. Margarita stood still as Diana's fingers moved up her back rapidly.

"It was quite lovely," Margarita answered slowly, trying to sort out her thoughts.

"It was on such short notice, you only got the invitation today!" Diana commented. "And it still impressed?"

"Definitely," Margarita said. "I think that was Don Estevan's doing. He was the guest of honor and he must have talked to everyone there, telling them fantastic tales of impossible exploits."

"He sounds like my cousin," Diana said happily. "He works on a ship that goes from Mexico City and back to here, and every time he visits he tells my children tales of monstrous marinas and sirenas."

"Does he do battle with them, or romance them?" Margarita asked, as the dress fell away from her body and she stepped out of it.

Diana whisked the dress to the closet as Margarita stepped over to her mirror, to look at herself.

"He will do battle with the legends until my children are old enough to appreciate a finely spun romance, and then he will marry one or two of them and have about twelve children, all endowed with magical powers," Diana explained and Margarita burst out laughing. "What about Don Estevan?"

"He would fall in love with several but at the end of the day, he would break away from their dark arts of amor," Margarita answered, as Diana hurried back to undo her corset. Fingers flew nimbly up the fastenings and Margarita took her deepest breath since she'd put the corset on earlier in the day, before the party. Those corsets were the worst to wear, by far.

"Ah, the ever roaming caballero," Diana said wistfully. "My husband used to be like that."

"And then what?" Margarita said. "He married you?"

Diana sighed. "Si," she said dreamily. "And then it was like he'd become a man overnight, instead of a dreaming caballero. Fair warning, Margarita, if I may offer it to you."

"What is it?" Margarita asked, her last party clothes finally off. She picked up her brush and sat down at her vanity, as Diana pulled pins from her hair.

"Some men will be able to do it," Diana said matter-of-factly. "Put away their childhood and their longing for adventure and fleeting romances. But some men won't." She met Margarita's eyes in the mirror as she took the brush from her and started to work its way through Margarita's thick hair. "You should figure out what type of man this Estevan is before you go any farther," she warned.

"It was not like that," Margarita protested.

Diana laughed. "You haven't acted like this since you were thirteen and Don Diego told you that you looked beautiful with your hair finally up and your skirts finally down."

"What are you implying?" Margarita wondered, faux irritation in her voice. "That I had a childhood romance with Don Diego or that I'm going to have one with his uncle?" She stood up, shaking her head. "His uncle!"

Diana shook her head. "Of course, neither of the two, Margarita," she corrected herself. "I was just teasing."

Margarita nodded as she climbed into bed, suddenly very tired. "Diana?" She asked as the woman started from the bedroom.

"Si, Margarita?" Diana asked, pausing in the doorway.

"Do I really not react when men flirt with me?" She asked. "Has it really been since I was thirteen since I showed true interest?"

Diana hesitated. "Si. Because it was when you were fourteen that your mother…passed."

Margarita could sense Diana crossing herself, and muttering the words that went with mentioning a dead person.

"Never mind," she whispered and Diana still paused in the doorway.

"Buenos noches," she told her charge.

"Mm," Margarita said and the door closed.

She lay awake that night, thinking things over, wondering the truth of Diana's tales. She didn't doubt that her maid would see things that Margarita could not, but it still hurt to be told that she was cold and uninterested.

 _ **Diego de la Vega**_

Many things occupied Diego's mind that night, not the least of which was the look on Margarita's face when she accepted his uncle's offer of a third dance.

What had she seen in him that was different from all of the men who'd passed through Los Angeles over the years and, almost inevitably, asked for her hand?

Margarita wasn't cold, and she wasn't some sort of ice queen. But she had walls that were higher than the ones used to box Rapunzel into her tower. She had guards, not ones who carried swords and threatened people, but who were so tightly packed and numerous that one almost gave up before he even started.

She didn't want love. She wanted fun and laughter. She wanted to forget her own pain.

Diego couldn't blame her for that. Love was tricky business and it always took from you. It rarely ever gave.

He looked out his bedroom window as Bernardo came in from the secret passage, speaking rapidly.

"What do I want to do with the jewels?" Diego asked, paying strict attention. "You know, I hadn't decided yet. They're most likely imitations, so I don't really want to give them away or someday someone might get in trouble for possessing them and trying to pass off fake jewels."

He frowned as he looked at the rainbow of gems in Bernardo's hand, and walked forward to pick up the diamond necklace.

"This one…this is the one everyone talked about," Diego said softly. "This is the one that everyone wanted to buy off of my uncle." He shook his head, holding it up to the light of the candle. "It is beautiful," he said. "It shines like the stars in the sky. Yet it is fake."

He shook his head again and handed it back to Bernardo. "I think I'll wait until my uncle has departed to decide," he answered. "Take them and hide them with Zorro's things."

He turned back to the window; to the warmth and coldness of the moon. La luna was definitely a study in contradictions, like so many things in Diego's life right now. She shed light upon the earth, beautiful, sparkling light. Light was supposed to be warm, and comforting. But la luna's light was cold. Cold as ice. Cold as a woman who only wanted love without fear.

There was no such thing.


	2. The Way It Might Yet Be

_**Estevan de la Cruz**_

He rose to a beautiful California day, and was immediately grateful to be where he was. He was so sick of Spain, of the pretenses and how everyone could see through him.

He'd come to California merely as a cooling off period, for everyone in Spain to forget a little about him, so that when he came back, brimming with tales of Alta California everyone listened and clustered near to him again.

He was sick of being written off, so he'd decided it was time to change his story. It was as easy as that. It was always as easy as that for Estevan de la Cruz.

As he bathed for his first time in weeks, he splashed the water merrily, scrubbing the soap all over.

"The dust is finally coming off of me," Estevan announced as he walked into the sala to greet Alejandro and Diego. "What is that verse in the bible about wiping dust from your sandals? Because that is how I feel about washing Spain off of me. I am ready for a new start."

"And for new dust?" Alejandro asked dryly.

"Si, si," Estevan said, sitting down at the table. "Where is my breakfast?"

"In the dining room," Alejandro replied. "You may go in there to eat."

"Why, I'd be so lonely," Estevan lamented and summoned the passing servant, Teresa. "Ey, could you fix me a plate and serve it to me in here?"

"Si, Don Estevan," Teresa nodded and darted from the room.

"Those are not part of her duties," Alejandro protested.

"I do not think she minds," Estevan said. "What is her name?"

"Teresa," Diego told him when Alejandro merely snorted and turned back to his correspondence.

"Teresa, muchos gracias for taking time out of your busy schedule to bring me food," Estevan said loudly when she returned. "You are a jewel among women and one of the best ones I have met so far."

"Gracias," she said, blushing a little.

Diego raised an eyebrow at it: Teresa was usually unflappable.

Estevan dug into his breakfast, noting the way that the female servants were casually, and not so casually, finding ways to come and peek at him, the ama de llaves in particular.

"Cresencia, you might as well ask instead of stare and hope for an answer," he finally said.

Cresencia jumped when she was caught and quickly started to dust again.

"Ask what, Don Estevan?" She wondered.

"What on earth I am doing back in California," he said, standing up and stretching. "Don Alejandro, that was a very good meal. May I compliment your chef or is the kitchen off limits?"

"Go where you will," Alejandro snorted.

"Could you show me the kitchen?" Estevan asked Cresencia and she plonked her hands on her hips.

"Of course," she snapped. "Follow me."

She led him at a quick pace and abandoned him at the door.

"Cresencia, do you still hold a grudge against me?" Estevan asked, catching her by the hand. "My tender heart apologizes and is most wounded that you have not forgotten my misstep yet."

"I have not forgiven you yet," Cresencia said, but her dimples had begun to make an appearance. "And even beyond that, you did not come back for your sister's funeral."

Ah. That was the thing. Estevan quieted for a moment. "You loved Isabella, didn't you?"

"She was a like a daughter, or a sister," Cresencia said. "She was your sister."

"I loved Isabella too," Estevan said. "That is why I could not come back. I could not think of her as being that way. Can't you understand that?"

Cresencia glared up at him. "No, I cannot," she said. "But I am merely a servant. Do not bother yourself with me."

"Fine," Estevan said and walked into the kitchen. There was a woman's cooking to be complimented and he'd be damned before he forgot.

 ** _Diego de la Vega_**

Diego stayed in the sala until Estevan had returned from the kitchen. "Well, uncle what are your plans for the day?" He wondered aloud.

"I was thinking, we two should ride over to the Cortazars," Estevan said. "Don Marcos and Margarita were most welcoming and I rather wished to express my apologies for letting the jewels be stolen from me. Margarita truly admired that diamond necklace." Estevan shook his head sadly. "I hate the thought of her face when she hears that, in this night, I still haven't gotten it back from that Zorro scoundrel."

"I think Margarita will be fine," Diego said, taking a cigar. "She gets over things quickly."

"Does she?" Estevan asked, following suit. "I took her to by the type to hold things very closely in her heart, and never forget them."

"Well, that too," Diego said.

"She's a very beautiful woman," Estevan said.

"I'd never deny that," Diego agreed.

Estevan looked at him, an unsatisfied look on his face. "Is there something you are not telling me about Margarita?"

"Only that she has refused almost ten marriage proposals," Diego said casually.

"Aha, she has good taste," Estevan said. "A woman should never say yes to the first man that comes along."

"Or the first ten, eh?" Diego asked.

"How many were yours?" Estevan asked, the question piercing Diego.

"What do you mean?" He wondered, inhaling on the cigar but tasting none of the savory flavors and aromas.

"How many of the proposals were yours?" Estevan repeated, his voice slow and patient.

"Why, none," Diego replied. "We are just friends. Ever since I returned from Spain, that is all we have been. Nothing more, nothing less. I love her—"

"I knew it, you were just too afraid to speak up," Estevan interrupted. "Her beauty astounded you when you returned and then you learned that she had refused ten marriage proposals and you never dared approach her after that even though all the time you were in Spain, the only reason she said no to her lovers was because she was waiting for you! And you, too cowardly to approach her, have left her alone and waiting all this time! Diego, I am ashamed."

"Like a sister," Diego finished. "Please do not make up tales of Margarita's love life. Believe me," he began, the words hurting even as he said them. "Believe me, Margarita does not love or pine for me."

"And why not?" Estevan asked. "Are you not tall, handsome? Stop putting yourself down, Diego. You are my nephew, are you not?"

"What a winning recommendation," Diego said dryly. "I'd almost forgotten. Do you think I should mention that to Margarita, or do you think she knows?"

Estevan barely noticed that he was being teased, or maybe simply didn't care. Diego could never quite figure his uncle out.

"Diego, we are going right over there, right now!" He announced. "Put on your courting clothes, we are going to romance a Spanish lady!"

"I'm fine with what I am wearing," Diego said. "But if you wish to change, I'll fetch the horses."

"I don't need to change," Estevan said. "All my clothes are prepared just for moments like these. I always look the part."

"The part of what?" Diego wondered as they left the hacienda and headed for the barn. "Lothario?"

"You injure me," Estevan scowled. "Of the perfect…" A naughty look crept onto his face. "Duena."

Diego almost tripped over his own feet when Estevan said the words. "You, a duena?"

"Well, casamentero works too," Estevan said slyly.

Diego laughed, finally going along with his uncle. "Alright, you would make the perfect duena. I give in."

"Gracias," Estevan said, letting Diego guide him to the horse he'd be riding. "Now get me a better looking horse. I will not ride this nag."

"That is Princessa," Diego said, almost insulted on his father's behalf. "She is the finest horse in my father's stables."

"Oh," Estevan said, a frown on his face. "Don't you have anything white? That's the color knights wear, you know."

"The color knights ride," Diego corrected.

"What's the difference?" Estevan asked, brushing the words off. "Diego, are you getting quarrelsome in your old age?"

"I thought you were a duena not a knight," Diego said, as he gestured for the stable hand to come over.

"Do you have any white horses?" Estevan asked impatiently.

"Uh, no," Diego said, his mind going to one white horse he'd ever possessed and flinching from the memory.

"Well, I'll take this one, then," Estevan said, moving to the next horse.

"As I said, Princessa is the best horse in my father's stables," Diego insisted, going to his own horse, Torcedor.

"I will not ride her," Estevan said. "What is this one called?"

"Cabra vieja," Diego answered, swinging onto Torcedor's back.

"He's called what?" Estevan asked.

"Oh, the horse!" Diego exclaimed. "Prisa."

"That's more like it," Estevan said in relief and swung onto the horse's back. "Prisa, you and I are going to be great amigos," he announced. "You shall bear me everywhere."

"While you're here," Diego said, as they started out of the yard and onto the road.

"Of course," Estevan said.

"How long will you be here? I forget what you said last night," Diego edged.

"I didn't," Estevan answered and looked behind him at the sun. "Diego, I will be here until the sun falls out of the sky."

Diego rolled his eyes. "That is a long time indeed," he said.

Estevan chuckled. "Well, that's a bit too long, possibly," he said. "All right. I will stay here in Los Angeles until I am needed elsewhere. Does that satisfy you?"

"Oh, si," Diego answered and they rode on. In his mind, he thought, _I didn't realize you were needed here._

 ** _Margarita Cortazar_**

Margarita was getting ready to go for her morning ride when Estevan and Diego appeared on her doorstep.

She, unknowingly, made quite a fetching picture as she stood at the bottom of the stairs, in her plain riding habit; her hair up in a mass of braids.

"You are here earlier than I thought you'd be," she greeted them, going towards them with her hands out.

"I do not remember setting a time," Estevan said, taking her hands and pressing a kiss to them. Margarita stared at him as he made the grand gesture, her heart skipping a beat at how unexpected it was.

"Margarita has great powers of premonition," Diego joked, taking her right hand after Estevan had released both of them and pressing a hasty kiss to the back of it. He looked at her as he did so; his gaze was intent.

Margarita's heart skipped another beat and she wasn't sure what to make of any of this. Men were a peso a dozen in her life, and the grander gestures, the more tired they made her.

So what was this?

"No, I have no powers of premonition," Margarita said. "You spoke to my father about coming over here, and besides, you were coming to talk about the jewels…before you lost them, of course."

"They were stolen," Estevan said stubbornly. "By that dog, Zorro!"

"That's quite a contradiction," Margarita said. "Let's go on. I am eager for my ride."

"Fine," Estevan said, eyeing Diego. Margarita waited a moment, wondering if either would offer their arm, but when neither did, she shrugged and walked towards the gate, passing between them.

Estevan dove forward and graciously took her arm. "I am a most lucky man to have you on my arm," he said enthusiastically as Diego followed them, folding his arms.

"I am the lucky one," Margarita denied. "Could you give me a boost up?"

"Of course," Estevan said. "What else am I here for?"

Margarita beamed at him. "Just to see me, I thought," she flirted and the beaming smile she received in return made her heart glow.

"Well, there is that," Estevan agreed, helping her onto Ave; her horse. "But how could I see you and not help you?"

She saw him glare at Diego as he got onto his own horse. "How could anyone?" He muttered and ran to his horse.

"That is Prisa, is it not?" She asked as they started on their ride.

"Si, it is," Estevan said. "He's quite a magnificent horse. He is going to be my boon companion while I am in Los Angeles."

"I thought I was going to be your boon companion," Diego said, urging Torcedor faster to keep up with them.

"Well, both of you, of course, Diego," Estevan said.

"Diego and I used to race our horses, along with Moneta Esperon," Margarita said happily. "We should ask her to come along."

She saw Estevan glance at Diego, then at Margarita. "Moneta Esperon. Was she the one who wore blue last night?"

"No, that was Isabella," Margarita corrected. "Moneta did not go to yesterday's fiesta."

"Why not?" Estevan asked, frowning. "Did she quarrel with Diego?"

"No, but she prefers not to go to parties when her father is away on business," Diego said. "Which he often is."

"She sounds like a dutiful daughter," Estevan said. "All right. Let's go see Moneta."

"The Esperon's hacienda is quite a bit away from here," Margarita began, meeting Estevan's gaze head on. "It could take quite a bit of time away from our ride."

"Oh?" Estevan said, and she could tell that he wondered why she'd suggested it.

"Unless we cut across this meadow," Margarita said, and turned Ave quite suddenly. "I think I will get there before you," she called behind her, her voice carrying on the wind.

Ave picked up speed at her lightest touch; Margarita had been riding this horse for years now, making it run and fly away from pushy suitors.

The wind whipped in her hair. She could hear Diego and Estevan's horses' hoof beats thundering behind her and she knew she'd stay in the lead, unless Estevan managed to pass her.

But then there was Diego, riding past her out of the corner of her eye. She gasped to see him and urged Ave to go harder, ride faster.

She met Diego's eyes: they sparkled at her, as they had so many years ago, before he went to Spain.

Before he returned from Spain, a mere shell of who he used to be.

She dug her legs into Ave's sides. "We can do this," she whispered into her horse's mane. "We can still pass him by."

Ave nickered in response and at the last moment passed Torcedor by; the horses neighed at each other. Torcedor seemed to be complaining that a mare had passed him and Ave seemed to be scolding him for doubting her abilities. Or so Margarita thought.

Margarita reached Moneta's hacienda first, and made Ave walk a little as she waited for Diego and Estevan to catch up, her breath coming in pants as she let Ave go to the water trough waiting outside the gate of one of the grandest haciendas in Los Angeles.

Ave filled her thirst and Margarita sat straight and tall in the saddle as Diego rode up.

"I'm afraid that my uncle overestimated Prisa's abilities," Diego apologized. "He should catch up with us soon."

"I let my fancies fly away with me," Margarita answered. "I shouldn't have raced."

Diego shrugged, dismounting Torcedor and leading his horse to the water.

Margarita waited, letting Ave dance sideways away from Torcedor. She wondered if Diego would help her down.

"It's quite a warm day," Diego said, shading his eyes as he looked at the sun behind him. "Or it soon will be."

He turned to her, and only then did he stride forward, holding his hand out. "Let me help you down," he murmured, slipping his hand into hers. She swung her leg over the side and slid down Ave's back, until she was standing in front of Diego and no longer sitting above him.

She was quite shorter than him. She wasn't sure that she liked this view of him better than her old one.

She looked up at him, focusing on his tanned face and the dark hair that curled around it.

"You changed so much," she commented, tipping her head. "Since you returned from Spain. And also when you left for Monterey and your return from there. You changed, Diego."

"I believe that people changing is inevitable," Diego said lightly. "Why should I hold out?"

She smiled, stepping away from him as Estevan rode up. "You two certainly led me on a merry chase," he scolded. "What was the idea back there?"

"It was an accident, I thought Prisa was a faster horse," Margarita apologized, stepping forward as he jumped off and tied Prisa to the post. "If I knew that it would be so hard for you to keep up with us, I wouldn't have raced."

"Well, I'll forgive you," Estevan said, stretching the words out. "You did make quite a fetching picture as you left me in the dust."

"Did I?" Margarita wondered. "Come on, let us go in to see Moneta. She'll be wondering what all the hoof beats were from."

She led them through the gate then, wondering how exactly she'd come to be in the lead. Moneta was leaning over the balcony, and she started down the stairs when she saw her friend.

"I was wondering what all the noise was," she said, reaching her hand out to Margarita. "And I see it's only you. It's been a long time since Ave has raced like that."

"Si," Margarita agreed, and gestured at Estevan. "Moneta, this is Don Estevan de la Cruz, Diego's uncle. Don Estevan, this is Senorita Moneta Esperon. Her father is Don Cornelius Esperon."

"I am most delighted to meet you," Estevan said, swooping Moneta's hand up and pressing a kiss to the back of it. "I hear you refused to come to my welcoming fiesta at the de la Vega hacienda last night."

"My father travels often, and I do not like to attend fiestas when he is gone," Moneta said softly, subtly pulling her hand away from Estevan.

"Ah, but this was no normal fiesta," Estevan protested. "It was to welcome me. It was a grand occasion."

"I'm sure it was," Moneta said, smiling at him but there was a distinct detachment as she turned to Diego. "Diego, it's nice to see you."

"And it's lovely to see you, as always, Moneta," Diego said.

Margarita could have sworn she saw Moneta blush but the woman had been almost inscrutable as a child and now she was even harder to figure out.

"Also," Estevan began, unsatisfied with Moneta's lack of reaction. "In the midst of it, I was robbed."

Now Moneta showed interest. "Robbed?" She asked, her mouth falling open in surprise.

"By a man they called…what was it?" Estevan asked Diego.

"Zorro," Diego said, folding his arms.

"Si, Zorro!" Estevan said triumphantly.

"Zorro robbed you?" Moneta asked, her eyes wide. "Zorro?"

"Si, the soldiers will attest to it," Estevan said. "Correct, Margarita?"

"Si," Margarita said. "Estevan went to change his jacket after wine was spilled and then he came running down the stairs saying that he'd been robbed."

"Of what?" Moneta cried.

"Jewels," Estevan told her, definitely satisfied now with the way the young senorita was responding to his tale.

"The most beautiful diamond I'd ever seen," Margarita said enthusiastically. "I am not surprised that Zorro stole it; Don Estevan refused all suggestions of selling it."

"Well, I gave in to your father eventually, but that rascal took it away before we could complete the deal," Estevan said. "Now, Senorita Esperon, I see through the window that you have an excellent piano in your sala. Would you allow me to play it? I heard a new song on my way here and I'd love to teach it to you two senoritas."

"Moneta," Moneta said, as she led them to the sala.

"Hmm?" Estevan asked, slipping his arm through hers.

"Call me Moneta," she said and led him to the piano. Her hands slid over the top as she lifted the lid almost reverently. "Here you are."

"All right," Estevan said. "Now let me think. How did it go…"

His fingers took to the keys and he began to sing:

 _Sweetest rose, come to your window_

 _Darling flower, dance in my arms_

 _Precious jewel, protect yourself_

 _Until I rescue you_

Moneta frowned at the lyrics as he sang. Margarita, however unaffected by the lyrics as she was, still found his voice compelling, and as he neared the chorus she edged over to him.

 _All I ask is a kiss_

 _Just grant me this_

 _We will dance forever_

 _And love together now_

She joined in on the last line, her voice rising high and sweet.

"Ah, you have a beautiful voice," Estevan said. "Very nice. Now sing the rest of it." He began to restart the song, but Margarita felt that Moneta and Diego were looking at her and she blushed.

"No, no more singing, I am no vocalist," she demurred, but sat next to him on the bench after a moment.

Estevan smiled at her and moved over. "You will dazzle us with your skills on the piano now?" He asked.

"Let me think," she said, and then started to play a ballad that had become popular in Los Angeles sometime last year.

"Ah, I do like this tune," Moneta said, looking up from the book she'd pulled off of the shelf while Estevan played. "It's a pity that there are no lyrics for it."

Diego's gaze shot to her face, and Margarita wondered why.

"Well, I shall have to write them then," Estevan said. "Play it again, Margarita."

As she played, her fingers moving lazily over the keys, he began to hum.

 _Mi amor…._

 _Da da da da…._

 _Mi amor…_

"That's a good start, anyway," Margarita said, finishing the song.

"I could do better, but this is hardly the atmosphere," Estevan complained. "This sala is so bright and sunny. I need moonlight and a rose scented air."

He smiled and got up from the piano. "Now Moneta, I do believe Diego and Margarita were lauding your skills as a horsewoman. You shall have to prove them correct when you ride with us to the de la Vega's for a picnic lunch."

Moneta's eyes sparkled, her book falling with a thump to an end table. "Really?" She asked. "Well, let me go change."

She hurried from the room and Margarita started after her. "We'll be back soon," she promised.

 ** _Estevan de la Cruz_**

Estevan smiled at Diego in satisfaction. "You're right, Moneta is a lovely girl," he said. "Not as charming as Margarita, perhaps, but she has an attraction all her own. Which makes the question of why you have not married yet all the more puzzling."

"I'm sure that the countess in Madrid was equally, or more, charming than any senorita in Los Angeles, why did you not marry her?" Diego countered.

"I'm not the marrying kind," Estevan said. "You, however, are."

"Oh, how can you tell?" Diego said, going over to an armchair. "Do I exude an air of husbandliness?"

"No, but after a point, you can tell who should marry and, well, who should not," Estevan said. "You need a woman, Diego. Someone to stabilize you."

"Why do I need stabilizing?" Diego asked.

"Because you are all tipsy," Estevan said. "All of these corners of yours are just poking out where they shouldn't, I feel. You dance with Margarita but deny her perfection, you ride around Los Angeles with her and still don't see anything. You let your beloved uncle be robbed under your very roof! Diego, where were you when I was robbed?"

"I was in the sala, and I got caught up in the party guests when you ran down the stairs; what was I supposed to do?" Diego asked.

"Well, I don't know, but you won so many competitions in Spain, surely something!" Estevan said, remembering going to said competitions. My, it had been a beautiful sight. The flash of steel, the quick footwork…only the winners stood proud at the end. Diego had been standing every time.

His nephew froze before his very eyes. "Uncle Estevan…" He began. "Don't…I've put that part of my life behind me."

"What?" Estevan cried. "What are you talking about? Did you forget the feeling of triumph when you beat Marcos Fernandez? Or when the grand duke himself attended one of your matches! Or what about the viceroy's son, I don't remember his name? You had such fun at those competitions."

"Uncle, it's not part of my life anymore and I'd appreciate it if you didn't bring up bad memories," Diego complained, standing up. "I'm not the man I was back then, only caring about violence and swords."

"It is not violence, it's art," Estevan countered. "Diego, I never thought I'd see you like this."

"Well, then I am sorry to disappoint," Diego said.

Estevan looked at his nephew, and remembered the boy that had arrived in Spain: tall but gangly. He looked at Diego and he didn't see the man that had left, waving goodbye to his uncle while waving a trophy high in the air.

"What happened, my boy?" He asked softly.

Diego smiled. "Nothing," he said. "I just didn't want to be that man anymore. Don't worry, I will do anything you want while you're here. If you ask me to pick up a sword, well, I would. But that won't be necessary."

"This is most confusing," Estevan told him. "But…" He trailed off, remembering his father, and the disapproval he'd always faced from the man. "But I will respect your wishes. If that side of you is gone, it is gone!"

Diego's smile widened. "Gracias, uncle," he replied. "You always did have a knack for accepting people not as they were but as they are."

"People change," Estevan said. "Far be it from me to deny that."

He clapped his nephew on the shoulder as he walked past him, and for a moment he squeezed the straining muscles present there.

No, his nephew hadn't changed at all.

But maybe something else had.

The two senoritas finally came down the stairs again, talking and whispering. Estevan didn't miss the way that Margarita's gaze went to him, and not Diego.

Well, that was a bit troubling.

Oh well, he had lots of time to burn, and he might as well do it here, in Los Angeles.

He'd have Margarita and Diego married if it killed him.


	3. The Way They Wish it to Be

_**Diego de la Vega**_

It had been a week, a week of Estevan making sure Diego, Margarita and he rode to every hacienda in Los Angeles. They danced and sang, and inevitably brought their guests back to eat his brother in law's food.

Alejandro wasn't very appreciate of that fact, but he didn't mind all the extra faces, or the renewed socialization. Estevan was spicing up life, and as long as it didn't interfere with his plans, he didn't care.

Diego rarely had any time to himself in the afternoons or nights lately, not since Estevan arrived, so he was getting up earlier to spend more time with Alejandro before Estevan woke up around noon.

"I heard Estevan say he was going to visit Isabella Linares today," his father commented as they ate breakfast.

"Yes, they are in the middle of a debate," Diego said.

"What was the debate about?"

Diego grinned. "Whether my uncle could bring her flowers still with the dew on them," he said. "I think Isabella has less patience for late risers than you do."

"She always did like an early start," Alejandro said. "What do you say to a game of draughts after breakfast?"

"Oh, I'm tired of draughts," Diego said.

"That's because you lose at it," Alejandro said, as they started for the sala.

"How about chess?" Diego asked.

"I don't care for chess," Alejandro said.

"Because you lose at it," Diego said.

"Well, I have to admit that you have a knack at beating me," Alejandro said, but didn't protest when Diego got out the chessboard and began to set up the carefully carved pieces. "You inherited that from your mother."

"Did I?" Diego asked, smiling. "I don't remember you playing chess with mother."

"Ah, we usually did it after you went to bed, we didn't want to worry you with our arguments over the chessboard," Alejandro said fondly. "It brought out the fighting side in her. You know, she once beat old Don Josaphat."

"Truly?" Diego asked. "But he's said to have been unbeatable in his lifetime."

"He did dedicate his life to perfecting his chess game, God rest his soul," Alejandro said. "So it was a big surprise when we were visiting him. Isabella saw the chessboard and she turned to me and said, I want to play a game with him. I protested of course, but she insisted, as she would, and asked him for a match." Alejandro shook his head, his voice proud. "Don Josaphat took her offer, and she completely thrashed him. Wait a minute, Diego, is that move legal?" He asked.

"I took your pawn, it's perfectly permissible," he said.

Alejandro sighed. "I shouldn't talk when playing chess, it's already too tricky a game," he complained, moving his bishop.

Diego noticed the obvious opening and glanced quickly at his father, but Alejandro was oblivious to the danger his piece was in.

At the last moment, he didn't take the bishop; instead, he moved his castle into position, preparing for check mate. His father was too easy to beat, this game was hardly fun but for the reactions and conversations had while playing.

"Marry a woman who can beat you at chess, Diego," Alejandro advised, moving his queen.

Diego almost groaned at the move. Even he could not resist the temptation; his knight swept Alejandro's queen off the board.

"Wait, what?" Alejandro asked. "Diego, that was not fair!"

"It was perfectly fair," Diego protested.

Alejandro closed his mouth again, obviously trying to concentrate on his game.

"Diego, this game is a sure win for me," he suddenly announced. "I have you in my clutches."

"Ah, no," Diego said. They played on for a few minutes. "I believe that's mate, father."

Alejandro stared at the board, studying the piece positions. "Agh, I cannot win at this game!"

 ** _Don Estevan de la Cruz_**

Finally, a bright new day! He'd stayed up far too late last night; he had quite a headache now. How regrettable.

He rode back from Senorita Linares' hacienda triumphantly, after having handed her a bouquet of flowers still with dew atop their blooms.

And now…now he could stop by the Cortazars. Funny how they were just on the way back from the Linares! He loved how fate worked out sometimes.

If you could call it fate. Estevan had planned it originally, not wanting Diego tagging along. Not today.

"Don Estevan," Don Marcos greeted, looking up from a newspaper. He sat on his patio, looking quite content, with a glass of wine in one hand.

Madre di dios, Estevan loved California! Wine was drunk all hours of the day, wine fresh from the grapes growing in the luscious vineyards lining every roadway.

"Don Marcos, what a pleasant morning, is it not?" Estevan asked, sitting down across from him.

"It is beautiful," Don Marcos agreed. "The breeze is cooling it just enough to not overheat one. I suppose you came to see Margarita? Why, where is Diego? Did he not come along?"

"Well, he's a little busy," Estevan explained. "And I wouldn't mind talking to you, too, Don Marcos."

"About what?" Don Marcos asked. "Have you recovered your jewels?" His eyes lit up and Don Estevan chuckled.

"Well, no," he said. "Tell me, what is the relationship between Margarita and Diego?"

"They are friends," Don Marcos answered. "As Diego is a friend to every eligible woman in the pueblo."

"Aha, so he's not as disinterested as he pretends, eh?" Don Estevan crowed.

"That is what I think," Don Marcos said. "I believe he is only biding his time until he decides which senorita he loves. And since none of the senoritas are being hurt by this, since I do not think any of them are considering marriage yet, I applaud his plan. There is nothing more dismal than a marriage that isn't well matched."

"Indeed, I have seen it so many times in Spain," Estevan lamented. "Don Marcos, what do you think of Diego?"

"He's a fine young man," Don Marcos replied, taking a sip of wine. "Don Alejandro is lucky to have such a…levelheaded son."

"Levelheaded, hmm?" Estevan murmured into his wine. "Of course, of course."

Don Marcos studied his guest for a moment.

"What would you think of him as a, uh, relation?" Estevan asked carefully.

Don Marcos leaned back in his seat. "I would welcome him gladly into my family," he replied. "What is this about? Are you acting as casamentaro?"

"Possibly," Estevan said.

Don Marcos sighed. "I fear you might be wasting your time," he said. "I regret to say it, but Margarita has never shown lasting interest in a man. She just wants friendship."

"She has never shown interest in men because they were not the right one," Estevan urged. "Just think, maybe she has been waiting all this time for him to notice her!"

Don Marcos considered the words. "She makes him a fine companion," he mused. "Did you see how they danced at your welcoming fiesta? Or how she laughs at his jokes?"

"She laughs at my jokes too," Estevan said. "I just need her to see that it runs in the family."

"And Diego?" Don Marcos asked carefully. "Does he care for her?"

"Oh, Diego is just shy," Estevan hedged. "I think, in the right circumstances, he could easily see her merits."

Don Marcos frowned. "I do not like the sound of that. It sounds as though he doesn't see them now, and my daughter—"

"That is not what I meant at all, only that Diego needs a little push," Estevan corrected. "He's shy. But if I play my cards correctly, Margarita will have a proposal within a week!"

"What shall I have in week?"

Both men turned to see Margarita at the top of the stairs.

"Margarita, come down, come down," Estevan urged, and she carefully made her way down the stairs. As usual, she was already dressed for her morning ride. "Don Marcos, would you mind if I stole your daughter away?"

Don Marcos hesitated…but then gave in. After all, Estevan was so much older than her and he'd said he was trying to match his daughter with Estevan's nephew. There could be no harm in letting them ride alone.

"Of course, go ahead," Don Marcos answered, waving them off.

 ** _Margarita Cortazar_**

"What were you speaking about with my father just now?" Margarita asked as they mounted their horses.

"Nothing, really," Estevan said. "You know we men are. We talk but we do not say anything."

Margarita looked at him, and her eyes pierced him. "I do not think that was all there was to it," she said softly. Their horses moved slowly down the road, and Estevan steered his closer to hers. She caught his gaze again and this time did not break away.

Why was this man different from any caballero she'd met before? What was the change? Why did her heart pound and her hands tremble when he looked at her?

"Well, maybe that is private," Estevan said quietly. "Margarita, I need to talk to you about something serious."

"I did not think you knew that word," she returned, and ducked away from his gaze, suddenly shy. "Let's race," she said, deciding on it suddenly, not wanting him to look at her so closely.

She urged Ave quickly onward, cutting off of the road and into the tall grass. She fell it scrape her legs but she did not care as she flew across the meadow, letting the troubling feelings and emotions break away from her and be replaced by excitement, the thrill of a ride, of running away…

"Margarita Cortazar, hold on a moment!"

She halted in an instant, just before Ave was about to take a stream. She whirled around in her seat and the sight of Estevan riding towards her, pursuing her, made her heart stop.

He was the first. He was the first to look at her and really see. Some of it was masked behind idle flirtations, but Estevan de la Cruz saw the true her. He knew that she was running…and he'd chased after her.

He was the only man who could have stopped her in that moment.

He pulled up alongside her. "This is a lovely place to talk, Margarita," he said, quickly dismounting.

He came over to her horse, holding out his hand. He expected her to take it, but instead when she swung her leg over to one side, she placed her hands on his shoulders.

His eyes darkened with surprise.

"Margarita, what is this?" He asked.

"Won't you help a senorita down?" She wondered.

"I thought you didn't need help," he murmured and his hands slipped onto her waist.

She didn't know what he felt in that moment but it was over far too soon. Estevan stepped away from her, as if distancing himself.

"Here, what a fine spot for you to sit down," Estevan said. "A beautiful rock on the side of the water." He gestured for her to be seated and she acquiesced.

She watched him as he paced for a few moments, wondering what he was going to say.

"Margarita, I need to tell you this, and right now," he finally said. "When I came here, to Los Angeles, I never expected to find such beauty in the midst of such wilderness. Such grace interposed with such barbarity. I never thought I'd find you."

She couldn't believe what she was hearing, what he say saying. Did he truly think this? "Estevan, that is the most beautiful speech I have ever heard," she managed to say, her voice stumbling.

He grinned down at her. "I meant every word, believe me, in all the world, and I've seen most of it, I have never met a senorita as beautiful as you, Margarita."

Then he knew. He knew how much he moved her, how much she worshipped the ground his dancing feet walked on.

"I do not know what to say," she managed.

"Ah, beauty speaks a thousand words, and every one of them Margarita, Margarita, Margarita." He walked closer.

"You should have come to California sooner," Margarita whispered, a lump in her throat. "You could have done so much."

"Well, I deeply regret that I didn't." Estevan frowned for a moment and Margarita remembered his sister's funeral that he did not attend. "Such a waste of precious time. When I think of it, two such perfect people and both in California!"

Her heart stopped. What was he talking about? "Two?"

"Si, you and my nephew Diego," Estevan stated matter-of-factly.

Her heart and mind flew immediately to that first ride she'd taken with Estevan and Diego, how only Diego had kept up with her. How Estevan was always making her stop, stop running, stop fleeing. How Diego, in comparison, kept pace with her.

"Diego?" She blurted, voice blunt with surprise.

"Ahh, he's a wonderful boy, Diego. Handsome, dashing, a true caballero! He will make you the finest of husbands!" Estevan said.

Her heart thudded dully in her ears, remembering everything that had happened over the past few days. Diego and Estevan visiting her, Estevan leaving them alone so frequently, Diego standing next to her, so tall and strong.

Estevan returning and making her heart beat faster.

Diego taking her hand to help her up. Diego spinning her across the dance floor, Diego holding her tight in a strong grip.

"Diego and I? We are just friends," Margarita protested, but her mind was shaking.

"You see, you laugh! Just the idea of it brings happiness to your heart," Estevan said.

Did it? Could it? Was this childhood dream coming true?

She didn't want it too. Not any more. She had traded that dream in for a new one, one of dancing and charm and sugared compliments that made her face burn and her hands tingle.

"Tell me, does Diego love me?" She asked, thinking back to the look on his face when she'd returned back downstairs with Moneta. Consideration. He'd looked at her as he'd never looked at her before, as if seeing her for the first tine. Even as she fell for his uncle, was Diego falling for her? God forbid.

"Well, of course he does!" Estevan exclaimed.

Margarita's heart thudded again. "He has never said so," she said, panicked, hoping to erase these words, this moment.

"Well, you know, the boy is so shy. But, uh, that is a good quality for a husband. It makes it easier to keep them under control," Estevan said. He folded his arms as he looked down at her and Margarita hated that he was seeing her as his niece.

"Oh, are you an expert on husbands?" She asked, wondering what on earth he could say to this, the rake who'd romanced a thousand women but never even let himself be truly swayed.

"Well, uh, let us say, I've been quite a student," the words, the sly tone…Margarita wondered who his teacher was. She wondered why this hurt so much when she'd known it all along. "Margarita."

The tone of his voice made her look up again. She wondered what he saw when he looked down. If she was so beautiful, why did he only wish her to go along with his nephew, willy-nilly? Follow Diego's dizzying lead that never made any sense. Follow him as he continued to ignore what everyone said and plod along life like it was an arithmetic book?

It infuriated her. Sometimes Diego slipped and showed such a thirst for adventure, romance, love. And then he was reciting mathematics problems, conjugating Latin words, and she did not even know what that meant! Was she a fool? Was she too stupid for Diego to consider her?

Was she not worldly enough for Estevan?

"Si?" She asked, her breath catching at how Estevan was looking at her, like she was the only woman in the world. And yet he did not want her.

"You would do well to give this matter some thought," he urged.

Thought. She'd already given it too much thought, on lonely nights when her heart ached and she wondered if any man could mean as much to her as her father did. As she wondered if her mother was looking down at her now and urging her on…or pulling her back.

She felt tears begin to sting. She had to get out of here. She didn't want this.

"Yes, I will. But now I have to go," she said, standing in a hurry.

Her eyes were about to overflow, but she put such a smile on her face that Estevan did not notice.

She'd been wrong. She had been so wrong about him. He didn't see anything when he looked at her.

"What, so soon?" He protested.

"Yes, there is a lot to do," Margarita began, mind scrambling. "Tonight my father and I are entertaining a very handsome caballero."

Her mind spun, trying to think of someone, but it wasn't a usual occurrence for her father and her to entertain. Luis?

No, he was courting Eugenia Barbarossa now.

"Who?" Estevan demanded, his face darkening.

Her heart skipped a beat. Finally. Maybe it wasn't just Diego. Maybe he was interested in her for her own sake.

"You," she breathed the word. He looked down at her and his face changed.

"Oh," he murmured.

She moved past him to her horse. She was getting on by herself when she felt hands helping her up, and Estevan was gazing up at her.

"You haven't had breakfast yet," she reminded him. "Go home and eat."

"Oh, si," he said, but still hesitated; his hand was still placed on Ave's saddle, as if claiming the horse…or her rider.

"You might expect to see Sergeant Garcia today," she told him. "You should hurry as to not miss him."


	4. The Way He Pretends It Is

**_Don Estevan de la Cruz_**

With that, she broke away from him, riding swiftly in another direction. Estevan watched her go and felt his stomach grumble.

Well, the girl was right. He was hungry.

He mounted Prisa and rode swiftly home, until he was walking inside the patio.

He heard voices carrying. So, Sergeant Garcia was there! What did he want?

"Sergeant, here are fifty pesos," Don Alejandro said.

Oh, what a wicked idea Estevan got in his mind!

He stepped forward. "Sergeant Garcia, accepting a bribe?"

During the whole rigmarole, he delighted in the flabbergasted blustering of the poor Sergeant and the growing fury in his brother-in-law's eyes. Ah, he never lost his touch.

Until Diego stepped in.

Diego had somehow became the intermediary, yet in Spain he would have added to the brouhaha. Oh, how his nephew had changed.

Maybe he was shy, Estevan thought as the matter was cleared up.

"Sergeant Garcia was merely collecting the purse for the horse race this Sunday," Diego finally exclaimed, holding his uncle back.

Ah. How his nephew had grown up. He was bored with this already.

"It will be over a thousand pesos this year," Diego added.

Estevan's heart jumped. Did he truly hear that right? His boredom slipped away. "A thousand pesos? What is the entrance fee?" He asked Sergeant Garcia, his mind spinning around in a thousand different directions. A thousand pesos still went a long way in Spain. He could impress a lot of women—and trick their husbands into trusting him—with that beautiful amount.

"There is no set fee, just what everyone cares to give," Garcia told him.

Oh, what beautiful words. Estevan gave over the change he had and, after Alejandro stormed out in fury, taking Garcia with him, Estevan steered Diego over to the piano.

"So, what are we going to do today?" Diego asked.

"We?" Estevan wondered. "Who is we?"

"You, Margarita, and I," Diego said.

Estevan waved him off. "Oh, I already saw Margarita today."

There it was.

A surge of triumph hit Estevan's bloodstream as Diego's gaze darkened.

"When was this? Why did you not tell me?" He wondered, face tightening.

"Oh, you are my nephew, not my keeper," Estevan waved him off.

"I merely want to make your stay here as comfortable as possible," Diego said.

"Don't bother, Margarita did fine alone," Estevan teased, seeing Diego's hands begin to fist.

So the fighter from Spain was still within him.

Estevan wanted to shout in triumph, proclaim it from the rooftops. Diego was jealous, Diego was angry. Maybe there could be a match after all.

"Besides, I came to Los Angeles to help you," Estevan said.

Just like that, Diego morphed back into the man Estevan had seen since he'd come to Los Angeles. Pity.

"How so?" Diego asked, propping a hip on the table.

"With the senoritas here," Estevan said. "You could have such a perfect marriage."

"What senoritas?" Diego asked.

"Well, any of them," Estevan said. "Except Margarita."

"Why not Margarita?" Diego asked.

"Well, you can't win them all!" Estevan exclaimed.

"I appreciate what you are doing, but do not tell me who I am and am not interested in, and I can honestly do these things myself, in my own time," Diego said, steeling his jaw.

Ha! Caught!

Estevan sighed.

"You came here to make your fortune, not mine," Diego said. "Shouldn't you get started on that?"

Estevan grinned. "Well, maybe you are right at that. A fortune could do me some good. After all, sometimes you need some pesos to impress."

"You could impress someone if you'd never possessed a peso in your life," Diego exclaimed. "But who refuses to be impressed?"

"Margarita is such an even tempered girl, I can never get a reaction of the heart from her," Estevan said.

Diego's gaze darkened more. "She responds most willingly to you, and you kn—" He broke off.

"I want to buy another jewel for her," Estevan said. "To replace the ones stolen by that idiota, Zorro!"

Something changed in his nephew's face.

"Oh?" He asked.

"Si, I feel so bad about it," Estevan answered. "Well, you know what, I haven't had breakfast yet, so I think I'll just eat a quick one, or steal something to eat on the way to Los Angeles."

"Why are you going into Los Angeles?" Diego asked.

"For reasons," Estevan said. "I have much to do, things to buy, people to see."

A horse race to fix. Somehow.

 ** _Diego de la Vega_**

Diego watched his uncle leave and suddenly knew why his father could never keep his temper around him. Goodness knows, he'd almost brought Diego to the boiling point. What was his uncle talking about? Why, up until today, he'd given the impression that he was trying to match Diego with Margarita, and now he was acting like he wanted to romance her himself.

The widow in Paris. The countess in Madrid.

No. Margarita was not going to end up like one of those women, left behind by a foolish traveler who only wanted a romance, not a love.

Couldn't Margarita see that? Couldn't she see what a flighty man Estevan was? Couldn't she read it in his stories, all about escaping through a narrow margin from a ridiculous conversation he had created himself? Couldn't she see what a fool he was, and how he'd only hurt her, and leave her behind?

Why did Margarita have to go by her emotions?

Why did every woman in Diego's life have to live by her emotions, by whether life was exciting enough, or a man manly enough, or a romance lively enough?

Why did women always have to judge things through emotion? Why did everyone have to disappoint?

He took a book from the shelf, starting to read it with unseeing eyes.

His mind was racing, remembering. Margarita's eyes sparkling up at him as they'd danced. The look on her face when he'd helped her off of Ave that first day visiting Moneta.

He remembered, with a jolt, that he hadn't told Estevan one important thing as regarding the horse race:

The proceeds went to the mission. All one thousand pesos went to the mission.

He wondered if this was something he should worry about, when Bernardo came racing in, his hands flying around with panic, and not showing any coherence.

"Wait, wait," Diego protested. "What are you saying?"

Alejandro came in as Bernardo restarted, having heard the clatter of the manservant's feet and Diego's loud exclamation. "What has happened?" Alejandro demanded.

"Let me see, just a moment," Diego said, and his heart shook with the realization of what Bernardo was trying to say. He started up towards the bookshelf before Bernardo had finished speaking and Alejandro was already following without asking questions. "He went down to the cave, he was checking on Tornado, but Tornado was gone, missing," he told his father.

"What? Did Bernardo check the grounds? Everywhere, any place Tornado may have slipped into?" Alejandro demanded.

"He checked everywhere," Diego said grimly. "Let us ride to find him, now!"

 ** _Alejandro de la Vega_**

All of the annoyance, the irritation of the past few days flew away as Alejandro followed his son down the steps to the cavern where Tornado always stayed.

"He was a wild one, si?" He asked as they hurried out into the canyon, straining eyes for just a glimpse of the stallion.

"Si, as a colt, in the hills," Diego said.

Alejandro looked at his son and saw the worry, the tension, the stiffness in his shoulders as he jumped onto rocks like a nimble goat (or fox) and searched the canyon with his eyes.

"It's no good, we'll have to get horses," Alejandro said.

"Bernardo already went to fetch them," Diego said, jumping down.

"Is there something troubling you, Diego?" Alejandro asked cautiously.

"Well, si, Tornado is missing," Diego exclaimed, looking at his father as though he'd grown two heads.

"Besides that," Alejandro said gently. "You seem troubled beyond that."

Diego avoided looking at his father as he considered the question. "I…I think I just realized for the first time why you always lose your temper around Estevan."

Alejandro was very startled by the flippant answer, but as he looked closer at Diego he realized that his son was being dead serious.

"You always seemed to adore that in your uncle," Alejandro said. "What changed?"

"I still adore it, and I know that it is integral to who my uncle is," Diego said. "But…some things should be treated with more sensitivity."

With that, Alejandro knew that he would get no more information from his son. No, Diego was too close handed.

"Well, that's a guarantee," Alejandro said. "Your uncle would not know how to treat someone sensitively if the Virgin Mary herself were to show him the way."

Diego burst out laughing. "No, no, he wouldn't. So we should stop expecting it of him. Thank you, father, for reminding me of that."

It hurt Alejandro to remember that, in previous years had he said something like that about Estevan, Diego would have protested it, saying that Estevan would know when to be serious, when to show comfort and strength. It hurt him that Diego's faith in his uncle had been so broken. Was that what adulthood did to men?

Alejandro supposed it was. But it still hurt to see proof of it in his son.

 ** _Estevan de la Cruz_**

Estevan rode into the pueblo with his mind spinning al around with the possibilities of this horse race. One thousand pesos!

He cut across the wild grass lands as he rode, having learned the shortcut from Margarita, of course. He remembered the looks on her face as she rode, ranging from delight to mischief. She was an able horsewoman, as every senorita in California indeed seemed to be.

He was imagining her and Diego, as they had appeared on that first ride, ably matching each other's pace, leaving him far in the dust.

And that was when he heard it, saw the flash of black mane and heard the thundering hooves.

Prisa went into a panic, as the dream horse flew past them, racing them though he was riderless.

Estevan pulled Prisa to a halt and dismounted slowly, moving into the sunshine and after this black dream. Prisa nickered, trying to follow, but Estevan held out a stern hand.

This was his moment to prove to himself that he still had a way with horses. Years and years ago he'd been able to tame any stallion that flew past him, but that skill had disappeared after years of riding in carriages, in only the finest clothes, which didn't conduce to hard riding and the inevitable dust.

The horse was riding around, jumpy with action and full of promise for Estevan. He looked back at Prisa and snorted. That was not a horse!

This was a horse! This was the horse that would win him the race and the thousand pesos!

He moved up the hill. His dream horse was waiting there, standing at the top, and Estevan edged ever closer. The horse was judging him, deeming him worthy, for as Estevan reached out a confident hand, the horse stayed there. He'd let Estevan approach.

Ah, this was going to be a grand horse race!

 ** _Sergeant Demetrio Lopez Garcia, Lancer in the King's Army and Acting Commandante of the pueblo de Los Angeles_**

"The winnings all go to the mission," Garcia told Estevan, and the man's face fell.

"What do you mean?" He growled.

"It is a charity horse race, and all proceeds go to the mission," he said. "Was this not clear earlier?"

The look on Estevan's face made it obvious that it most decidedly not been clear earlier. At all.

"I find this most disturbing," he said. "But what is the use, then?"

"The winner gets a lovely garland of flowers weaved by the children," Garcia said, imagining himself winning such a lovely prize. My, what an impression he'd make, riding on his white horse, passing everyone in sight. Too bad he did not have a white horse. "But also, Don Alejandro's horses have won for the past five years! He is especially confident this year, for last year he entered Princessa and she left everyone in the dust. I have heard of many wagers on Princessa," he told Don Estevan solemnly. "As a soldier of the King, I do not partake in such lowly things, but the odds are five to one in Princessa's favor!" He leaned closer. "I may have lent the Corporal a few pesos to bet on Princessa but do not tell anyone."

The look on Estevan's face slowly changed from anger, to shock, and now to scheming. Garcia had a feeling he'd seen that kind of look on someone's face before…Enrique Sanchez Monastario.

"Don't do that, Sergeant," Estevan said, his voice musing. "Don't give Corporal Reyes your money for that. Has he bet it yet?"

"No, I suppose not," Garcia said.

"Listen, you have to convince the Corporal to spend that wager on the oats," Estevan said.

"Why?" Garcia cried. "You have not yet explained what for!"

"I have a horse," Estevan whispered. "The grandest horse I have ever seen. If he does not win the horse race, I will shoot myself in the foot."

"Oh, that is wonderful," Garcia said. "Not shooting yourself in the foot, of course. But what does this have to do with me? As I said, the winnings go to the mission." He steeled himself for another outraged outburst from Estevan but the man was clapping Garcia on the back.

"But think of the bets," he said. "You said yourself that the odds are five to one on Princessa! Think what someone would get if he bet on another, unknown horse, and won. On my way over, I already bet one thousand pesos. I did not know that the purse would be for another, but I was still sure enough of myself to bet one thousand pesos!"

"Why, that would be five thousand pesos, at five to one!" Garcia exclaimed. "Don Estevan!" He looked at the man in awe before confusion settled in again. "But what does this have to do with me?"

"I told you, I need money to buy the oats."

"But if you have already bet one thousand…" Garcia trailed off. "And why do you not take oats from the de la Vega storerooms?"

"As if I'd let Alejandro in on this secret, he might get scared and not enter Princessa," Estevan told him. "And you know, bets between gentlemen…they are about honor, not money. This lout wants cash."

Garcia tried to puzzle this out. "Alright. So you need me to buy the oats."

"And you shall split everything with me," Estevan promised. "For two pesos, you shall get twenty-five hundred."

"There is one problem with that," Garcia said. "I do not have two pesos."

"What about the money you gave to Corporal Reyes?" Estevan asked.

"That was only one peso," Garcia said.

 ** _Corporal Reyes_**

It was hard to tell what people meant sometimes. He'd seen Don Diego talk circles around him and his friend, Sergeant Garcia, many, many times, and every time Don Diego did it, he left the Corporal wondering what had even been said between them. He'd always tried to dismiss it from his mind; he had enough things to worry about besides trying to puzzle out the hidden meanings in Don Diego's words, but at least it had just been Don Diego doing it.

Now there was someone else.

Don Estevan de la Cruz was much more confusing than Don Diego.

And he tried to borrow money.

What a lethal combination.

He gave in and rode to the old mill following Sergeant Garcia and Don Estevan. It was going to be a three way split, since he had been wrangled into putting up the extra peso for the oats.

He was the one to carry the bag of oats inside, of course. After riding so long, the Sergeant's arms were tired.

Reyes sighed as he heaved the bag into his arms and carried it inside. After all, this could lead to some pesos. Maybe the Sergeant wouldn't even trick him out of them too, if he had his own.

He entered the old mill, and gasped. He knew this horse in an instant!

"He looks fast, maybe he could beat all the horses in Los Angeles," Garcia was telling Estevan.

"We've seen him do it," Reyes said, coming up behind them. "And he can jump too."

"What do you mean, Corporal?" Garcia asked.

"This is Zorro's horse!"

 ** _Don Estevan de la Cruz_**

Well! Zorro's horse! With so much money at stake, he could afford to be generous after all.

"I am telling you, Alejandro, bet all of your wagers on me, and you will make a fortune! This is a sure win!"

"I have a fortune, and there is no such thing as a sure win in horse racing. What if you get thrown?" Alejandro asked, irritated, and Estevan stifled a sigh. Would his brother in law never stop being so dour?

"I will be fine," he said. "If you won't place it on me, place it against me. I'll give you surety."

At that, Alejandro's face changed. "What a minute. Where did you get all the money for these bets you have been making?"

Estevan swallowed. He remembered that Alejandro knew his financial status and tried to resist rolling his eyes. "No money has changed hands," he said carefully.

"What? You mean you have been making bets with my friends that you cannot keep?" Alejandro exclaimed.

"There is no way I will have to!" Estevan protested. "When I win, they shall pay me! I trust your friends! They know that a gentleman's words is his bond!"

"You cannot be sure of that!" Alejandro said. "This is too much. You must go back and cancel the bets!"

Estevan sighed, turning to see Diego coming down the stairs. "Diego, come here. You are a bright lad."

"Gracias," Diego said cautiously, his steps slower than usual.

"You must convince your father that I can make him a fortune with this black horse," Estevan told Diego.

Diego opened his mouth to speak then his eyes seemed to widen. "Black horse?"

"I have discovered the fastest horse in California, and I am sure to win the race, and now all I need to do is convince your father to bet on me!" Estevan told him.

Diego turned towards his father. "Father, you have to admit…black horses certainly know their way to the finish line around here."

Estevan and Alejandro exchanged puzzled glances.

"What is that you say?" Alejandro asked. "Because I will not bet on your uncle."

"Where did you get this horse?" Diego pushed.

Estevan frowned. "I have him, that is enough."

"Surely you didn't steal him," Diego said softly.

"Sergeant Garcia is in this with me, and you know that he would never do anything dishonest," Estevan hedged.

"Sergeant Garcia can be confused," Diego said gently.

Fine," Estevan said, pushing his chair back. "Let me go, then. I need some paper. Diego, find me in the sala if you decide to bet."

 ** _Diego de la Vega_**

"What are you talking about?" Alejandro asked quietly, edging closer.

Diego's heart was still beating unpleasantly fast at the news Estevan had given him. "A black horse, father. One that could beat all the horses in California…save one."

Alejandro's vision cleared. "Tornado!" He gasped. "He found Tornado!"

"That is what I expect," Diego said grimly. "Which means he could actually win that race."

He walked into the sala hurriedly, and his heart again stopped beating and then sped up wildly; he could hear it beat in his ears, everywhere in his body.

Estevan was half inside the cabinet. Madre di dios.

"Uncle Estevan?" He called, interrupting him.

"Don't you have any paper in this house?" Estevan said, pulling his head out of the cabinet and Diego could finally exhale again.

"In the study," he told his uncle.

"I need to write down these wagers, you know," Estevan said, starting there.

"Just a moment, about your horse," Diego said slowly.

"What?" Estevan asked.

"On these nights before horse races…it does well to be a little cautious," Diego said, lighting a cigar to hide his shaking hands. "We have a tradition of, uh, accidentally stealing horses, just until the race is over."

Estevan's eyes widened just as he'd thought they would.

"My father always has five vaqueros watching Princessa, and he often sleeps in the barn with her himself, just to be careful. Even vaqueros…and soldiers…place bets," Diego said.

Estevan's eyes widened even more. "Well, you're right," he blustered. "Oh, you know, I need to take a walk before sleeping otherwise I won't be able to sleep a wink."

"Let me go with you, I've had a touch of insomnia myself," Diego said, his lips twitching.

Estevan didn't even look back. "No, you stay here, you need rest to cure insomnia!"

 ** _Estevan de la Cruz_**

But wait. He had to at least try to convince Diego, one last time, to bet on him. He turned around and darted back into the sala…

But Diego was nowhere in sight.

What did this mean?


	5. The Way They Deny It Is

**_Diego de la Vega_**

When Diego went downstairs, Estevan was seated at the table, staring morosely at the glass of wine in front of him.

"Zorro ruins everything," he said.

"Si, that horse race yesterday…" Diego shook his head, tutting his tongue. "It's a pity he had to go and take his horse back."

"Prisa is not even a horse; he's a goat," Estevan said. "Except a goat might have won that thing." He pressed his hands into his chin. "At least Alejandro talked to those dons behind my back and managed to get them to take back their bets. I cannot ever remember being so humiliated…or so in debt to your father," he said slyly, glancing towards the sala doors as if afraid that Alejandro might pounce on him for this admission.

"Indeed," Diego said. His lips twitched as he poured himself a glass of wine, remembering the night he'd taken Tornado back. He'd felt such satisfaction to outwit his clever uncle, and the look on Margarita's face when Princessa had won again…

It had been worth it all.

* * *

 _She'd come to him before the race, her face dancing with mischief._

"You know, I heard from Estevan that he has a marvelous new horse," she told him, leaning on the door to Princessa's stall.

"Si, did he tell you that last night?" Diego mused.

"He came to dinner," Margarita said, and Diego paused. He himself had missed dinner last night so he hadn't noticed that Estevan had also. "He must have convinced my father to lay five hundred pesos on him."

"Really?" Diego asked, a surge of panic momentarily seizing his heart.

"Si, but your father came by today and convinced Papa to take it back, nullify it," Margarita said, looking at the horse Diego was brushing. "If you won't think it unladylike…I made a bet with Moneta today."

"Oh?" Diego asked, a smile coming to his face.

"Fifty pesos on Princessa," Margarita answered.

"Moneta bet against the three time winner?" Diego wondered. "She doesn't usually go against odds."

"No, but her father is entering a new horse, you know, the one Moneta has been training," Margarita said. "And so she was betting on him."

"I find that mares are often faster than stallions," Diego said.

"Sometimes, but, uh," Margarita smiled again. "I think that Estevan's horse was a stallion, and from the way he talked…" The obvious relish she showed at just remembering moments with Estevan made Diego's teeth hurt. "From the way he talked, that horse could have beaten every one in California."

"All but one," Diego said, without thinking, his mind on Phantom.

Margarita frowned at him. "What one, Diego?"

"Princessa, of course," Diego fumbled.

Margarita smiled. "Ah, of course you take pride in your own horse," she said, and pushed away from the fence. "Well, anyway, I heard from Estevan that his stallion is gone…in private, I heard that it was Zorro's horse and he came to reclaim it last night."

"I wouldn't be at all surprised, you know," Diego said.

"Oh?" She asked, pausing.

"I saw him riding around on this pitiful brown horse last night," Diego said. "Like he was looking for something."

Margarita nodded thoughtfully. "You know, as far back as I remember about Zorro, you've always seen a lot of him," she said. "Ever since the beginning."

"Really?" He said. "I guess I just talk about him a lot."

"In the past, you've given the impression that you don't like him," Margarita said.

Diego looked down at his hands, wondering when the last time he'd shared so much was. "It's hard to like someone who…is everything that you are not able to be," he whispered.

A shadow passed over Margarita's face. "I think I understand," she said, and slipped away.

The rest of that day had gone by in a haze of sunshine and dry throated cheering. Princessa had won, ridden by Manuel, as always.

Estevan had tried to enter Prisa in the race, not knowing what a big favor his brother-in-law had done for him, and lost miserably.

 _It was, perhaps, the first time that Estevan had slipped into the crowd, and not taken center stage. He wished to keep the news of Tornado to himself, and Diego, watching his uncle, decided to let him._

* * *

"Oh, well, after all," Estevan began, breaking Diego's daydreams. "I did not come to California to win horse races. Now it is time to concentrate on my fortune again."

"Good!" Diego exclaimed. "How do you plan to do that?"

"Well, at first…" He glanced at Diego, obviously rechecking to make sure that his nephew was trustworthy. Ah, if only he knew how many had made the mistake of trusting Diego with sensitive plans. So many things Zorro managed to get his hands on, just because Diego was a little too loose handed with his news.

"At first, I was planning on selling the jewels," Estevan said. "In confidence, of course. I don't want Don Marcos hearing of this and thinking that I am dishonest. I just wanted a better deal, you know. Only a fool gives in to the first offer made."

"Of course, Uncle Estevan," Diego said. "You must wait for the best possible offer, the most interest."

Estevan sighed. "But I do regret that. Margarita would have looked so splendid wearing that diamond."

Diego's smile slipped away.

"Anyway, then I was thinking I could start a dancing school, and teach these don's sons how to do the latest dances from Spain but no one really cared for that, and madre di Dios, Diego, I am not a teacher, by any meaning of the word." He shuddered, shaking his head. "That was a low moment in my career," he vowed. "So then there was the horse race, which should have set me for life…" He trailed off, again looking cautiously towards the sala. Diego resisted the urge to tell him that Alejandro had gone to the north pastures to check on the new mother of a calf.

"But that failed, and only by the grace of my stubborn brother-in-law did it not ruin me," Estevan finished. "It is more than my pride can handle to thank him so you'll have to help me think up something to show my gratitude to Alejandro in other ways, Diego."

"Of course," Diego vowed, knowing that there was only one way Estevan could pay his father back: by leaving California and promising never to return.

"So now, I am on a new venture," Estevan said.

"What is this one?" Diego prodded.

"I…am not sure yet," Estevan said, looking off into the distance. "I don't know."

"What are you thinking about, though?" Diego wondered.

"The most beautiful senorita in Los Angeles," Estevan said dreamily. "And her father."

Diego smiled. "There is no woman among my acquaintances that I could label 'most' beautiful," he enthused. "Who do you speak of?"

"Well, they are all beautiful," Estevan agreed heartily. "And charming and such good riders. I have never seen such woman for riding!" He sighed. "But there is one that I can think of who surpasses all."

Diego bit his cheek, wondering if he'd sounded so foolish as when talking about Anna Maria to Bernardo, those nights so long ago…and yet so near in his memory. Only a few short months separated him from the man that he'd been in Monterey, but he knew now that he didn't want to return to the person he'd been then, too in love with the promise of romance to use his brain.

She'd broken something inside of him. He knew now that it had needed to be broken, he could see that of himself.

But he couldn't think of her without feeling bitter, without wondering why he had to hide himself, why he couldn't show who he was…

And yet she had turned down Ricardo also, who had embodied what Diego had been before those parts of him were hidden away and compressed into Zorro.

 _Was Zorro an idler or a practical joker?_

Sometimes Diego wasn't sure about the question. He remembered several pranks that had backfired upon him during Monastario's reign, ones that simply hadn't had to have been played. The one with the flag, that could have cost some men their very livelihood.

So what had Anna Maria wanted?

A dream, Diego could realize that now. She didn't want Ricardo, and she didn't want Diego, and at the end of the day, who knew if she'd want Zorro.

Diego was done contemplating it, done wondering forever about the truth of Anna Maria's life. He only wished that she was done with it also. He could only hope that she'd move on from Zorro and repair her life as he had done.

"So what do you plan to do with this senorita?" Diego asked, finally coming back to the conversation. "Marry her?"

"No, of course not," Estevan laughed. "Me, marry someone? God forbid. No, I think I'll just find some new venture. If her father trusted me, I could convince him to enter in on a purchase of a diamond mine with me."

"Diamonds?" Diego asked.

"Si, there is one far, far away," Estevan sighed. "I found it on one of my travels, but I didn't have the money to buy privacy so that I could plunder it's depths safely. And now who knows who has since taken my prize. But still, there is a chance, if only someone could finance that journey for me…"

He looked sideways at Diego before shaking his head. "Never mind all this, Diego," Estevan said. "Anyway, I have no time to lose. I need to make all of my friends forget about that disaster of a horse race as soon as humanly possible, and that means riding my cursed goat around to all of the haciendas in Los Angeles." He grinned. "And along the way, who knows, I might find someone who is interested in a diamond mine."

"You might," Diego sighed, hoping that no one would take up his uncle's offer and finance such an impossible venture.

He doubted it, personally, as he watched Estevan leave, the old spring in his step finally there again. For a moment yesterday, after the horse race, he'd been a bit afraid for his uncle's equilibrium.

But who was he fooling? Estevan was like an older version of Ricardo…and nothing had yet been invented that could keep Ricardo's spirits down.

Diego stood up and walked into the library, where it was cooler than outside in the hot sun.

Bernardo soon found him there, and his hands started to move animatedly.

"You watched my uncle leave, eh?" Diego asked distractedly. "He didn't go in the direction of Los Angeles?"

He watched Bernardo's hands move and a frown appeared on Diego's face. "He went towards the Cortazars and the Linares haciendas?"

He exhaled in relief. Yes, Estevan was probably going to the Linares'. He loved bothering Isabella.

And yet…he'd flirted very heavily with Isabella, but anyone could see that he didn't really mean any of what he said.

With Margarita…

Diego had seen his uncle look at the young senorita when he thought no one was looking at him. A certain wistfulness appeared in his face, a longing for something that, perhaps, he couldn't identify.

Diego didn't like that possibility, but after all, Estevan was convinced that Margarita was perfect for Diego. And what he'd professed his new venture was had nothing to do with courtship or marriage. Besides that, Guillermo Linares was the more adventurous don when compared to Don Marcos Cortazar.

Si, Diego had nothing to worry about.

Nothing.

Yet the look on Margarita's face whenever she saw Estevan, or merely spoke of him…how she lit up, how he could make her react like no other man could…

The legions of men who had proposed to Margarita in the past and been turned down by her swam into Diego's mind.

Surely Estevan would not join their ranks.

Diego refused to consider that Estevan could indeed not join their ranks not only but not asking…but by being accepted.

"Ouch," Diego cried, as he sliced his finger open on the letter opener present on Alejandro's desk.

Bernardo rushed over, tired of being ignored.

"And what else?" Diego asked, putting the tip of his finger in his mouth.

Bernardo spoke quickly.

"He was humming a song?" Diego asked irritated. "Well, then, how did it go?"

Bernardo nodded and urged Diego to follow him until they reached Diego's room, where a guitar sat. Bernardo took it up and began to hesitantly play.

"Mi amor," Diego whispered, the words a curse.

But could it mean that much? After all, Moneta had also been present the day Estevan began to compose that song.

Diego patted Bernardo on the shoulder. "Gracias, but I still do not think that he is going see Margarita…" He trailed off when Bernardo looked rather slyly away. "Ah, so that is what this is. I do not have feelings for Margarita, Bernardo!" He protested. "I just don't want her making a mistake, and yes, falling for my uncle would be a huge mistake for any woman to make."

With that, he stalked out of the room, angry at himself for having been fooled by Bernardo's pretend urgency. To think all Bernardo was doing was trying to feel him out and figure out how he truly felt about Margarita…

But then again, wasn't Diego trying to do the same for himself and failing?


	6. The Way She Dreams It Could Be

_**Margarita Cortazar**_

Margarita was surprised to see Estevan come riding up the road to her hacienda that day. She found herself hurrying down the stairs nonetheless, and waiting by the gate to meet him.

"What are you doing here?" She cried, as he approached.

"I came to visit my favorite haciendado," Estevan answered, dismounting quickly and shooting Prisa a dirty look as Vincento hurried forward to take charge of his horse.

Estevan smiled down at her. "Why are you so surprised to see me, Margarita? Be honest."

"Well, you were so disappointed yesterday," Margarita said, her voice halting. "I did not think you wanted company."

"I always need company around me," Estevan corrected, lifting her chin up when she looked down. She felt the touch of his hand like fire and she met his gaze hesitantly.

He was smiling gently down at her, like she was a child that needed to be led by the hand.

"Well, my father is inside," Margarita said. "What did you wish to see him about, anyway?"

"I have a marvelous new chance for him," Estevan enthused. "At first, now, I thought I'd approach Don Guillermo but then I thought, Don Marcos is your friend, would not be fair to not let him have the first chance on this."

"On what?" Margarita asked, her hopes plummeting to the ground. He was most definitely not here to see her. That didn't even seem to be a side agenda.

"A diamond mine I discovered, but I shan't tell you where," Estevan replied. "In fact, I will not tell a living soul until I go back there myself to see if it is still standing there where I left it."

"I don't think I understand," Margarita said, frowning as her head tried to puzzle all of this out.

"You don't have to," Estevan said. "Just know that I could make your father a fortune, if he was so inclined as to take his chance on me."

Margarita nodded. "But tell me a bit more about it. After all, father might prove reluctant." She let a smile come to her face; she saw how he hesitated when she did so. "You might need someone on your side," she said boldly, tired of waiting for him to make the first move. That was how it had always happened, after all. Maybe now it was time to move forward herself, on her own two feet. If she wanted something, she'd do well to try for it herself.

She thought of her mother, Phelicia, and she remembered tales of how her father's romance of her had gone on. Phelicia hadn't stood idly by.

Margarita was suddenly convinced that neither would she.

"Well, I'll see what he thinks of it before I decide if I need an ally," Estevan said, his voice somewhat uncomfortable.

"Well, I'm off on my ride," Margarita said, and headed the opposite direction instead of seeing Estevan inside to her father's study.

She felt him looking at her; felt the shock.

Well, _good_.

She was done being predictable. She was done letting him make the first move...and him not taking it.

She leapt onto Ave's back and was gone like a flash, riding over the dusty road and the yellowed grasses that led cross country to the creek separating her property from Moneta's.

Diego was there.

She shouldn't have been surprised. As a boy, he'd seemed to seek out places of water. And she'd often seen him do the same since he'd returned to Los Angeles, no longer a boy.

This would be the first time she'd approach him; the first time she'd dared.

He'd been so different.

As a child, Margarita had never been sure how she fit into Diego's world. He always seemed to have more fun with Rosarita and Moneta. Margarita always seemed to be a second thought...Indeed, he'd only started inviting her to race him after Rosarita had moved away.

As she'd grown up, Margarita had started being more comfortable in her own skin, and started to initiate things with Diego. She'd started inviting him on rides, asking him to little parties that she'd give with her mother's help.

And then it had happened. Her mother had passed away. Margarita had retreated into herself, feeling like no one quite understood her; that the only one who had had just left her.

So she clung to her father, the piece of her mother that she had left on earth. No one else quite measured up to him; no one could make her smile the way he did.

Best of all, her father never asked anything of her. He didn't make her sing or dance; he didn't even require her to smile.

And that was why it was so easy to smile around him, to pretend that everything was alright. She never wanted him to worry; she never wanted to be the reason he stopped smiling. As the years went by, he became her everything.

Diego left for Spain, on a grand day that everyone in the pueblo both celebrated and mourned. He was one of the first, of this generation, to return to their mother country and everyone was delighted that he would learn the old ways.

Margarita had stayed back on that day. Diego leaving, even if it wasn't going to be permanent, was like another corner of her universe crumbling. He'd become a fixture; a simple way to gauge whether everything would stay the same or not.

And so it wouldn't. That was certain as she watched him leave.

The very next day, Margarita Cortazar had her first marriage proposal. A passing don's son on his way to Monterey was captured by the young girl with the big brown eyes and the intoxicating laugh.

Don Marcos, frowning, had nevertheless left it up to Margarita to decide whether or not to accept. After all, he came from a fine family. His intentions could only be for the good of Margarita.

 _She remembered entering her father's study, hesitant and shy. Diana had dressed her in her finest outfit: a delicate orange silk that made her look both young and old. She remembered the look on her father's face: shock, as if seeing her as a woman for the first time._

She remembered the look on her suitor's face, one of hunger and thirst for beauty.

"Don Hugo would like to ask you to marry him," her father had said, solemnly.

"Si," Hugo added. "Margarita, I have not known you long but I already know that you would make me very happy."

"You can choose, Margarita," her father said gently.

She looked at Hugo, at a man she'd shared but one dance with the night before.

"Gracias," Margarita whispered, and cleared her throat. "Muchos gracias. I am most grateful for your honorable proposal of marriage." Oh, where to go from here? She was trying to remember a letter of her mother declining an invitation to a party and this was where she was lost. "But I do not think I would be happy," she finally rushed out. "I do not want to leave home yet."

"We could have a long engagement, by all means," Hugo insisted, striding forward. She felt utter terror when he took her hand and kissed the back of it.

"No, I do not wish to marry you," Margarita said, and a sudden line of her mother's flew into her head. "I do not think you could hold my heart long enough."

Hugo looked startled.

 _"Well, that is settled then," her father answered. "Hugo, I think it is time for you to go back to Monterey."_

And there were more, after that. Men of prestige, men who had no more than a peso in their pockets...men who could romance even the most hardened spinster, and men who struggled to put together words enough for one feeble compliment.

Margarita treated them too gently, some said, their voices whispering around the pueblo about her intentions, each and every time. If she truly did not wish to marry, she should just say so.

Or is she waiting for someone better to come along? Others asked. Someone with even more money than Don Ramirez, more prestige than Don Oliver? Did she hope to be a soldier's wife? Because Capitan Monastario did ask her, before moving his sights to Elena.

What did Margarita Cortazar _want_? Became a cry in the pueblo over the years. Was she picky, or just scared? Would she end up an old maid after all, after everything?

And then Diego came back. The pueblo seemed to let out a breath it didn't know it was holding. Of course. She was simply waiting for Diego to return. After all, their families were so close.

Indeed, Margarita had had similar expectations at first. Whenever she saw Diego, her breath caught at how handsome he had become. She loved listening to tales of his studies in Spain, of the adventures he'd had; the books he'd read. She loved being around him, basking in his presence. Surely, this man was the one for her! He was the only one that made leaving her father seem possible; feasible...even welcome. He made her heart sing with promise, and the memory of her mother presided over it all. She had loved Diego, as he reminded her of her dear friend, Isabella de la Vega. She had always welcomed Diego into her home.

But no. Diego's return just made everything harder to figure out, since he was most insistently not interested in anyone! That they would always be only friends was pounded into her head most insistently.

He serenaded Elena then turned away and let her elope with his servant behind his back, never once showing the faintest anger or heartbreak.

He danced the night away with Magdalena Montes, and surely that meant marriage! Everyone knew that the limit was three dances before a marriage proposal, and, counting one unfinished dance, they'd done four.

But morning had come and Magdalena flew from their minds.

Then came Rosarita.

When Rosarita visited the pueblo, Margarita's heart had frozen. She had, over time, gotten accustomed to the fact that Diego was just a very dear friend; one who could move her, yes, but nothing more than that. Never more than that, no matter how much she wished it.

Rosarita was obviously the one who Diego's heart belonged to. She had been his childhood sweetheart in every meaning of the word and everyone exhaled, delighted to see the two of them together again, dancing and fighting their days away as usual.

And then Zorro had swept in.

Margarita had watched those developments with great confusion. Si, Zorro was exciting, and an honorable outlaw was hard to find, but to fall in love with him, as Rosarita had done? That was foolishness. He was just an outlaw, after all. Who knew what hid behind his mask? He could have children, a wife...He could truly be an outlaw, a man who'd committed grave sins in his past and hoped to now expiate them by riding for the cause of justice.

Her heart was sore for Diego in those weeks, thinking him in love and heartbroken over the fact that Rosarita no longer wished for him.

But no. After looking a bit closer, he'd never seemed affected in the least by her departure. He'd seen her off most willingly, perhaps even eagerly.

What could that mean?

And so it went on.

Until Monterey. Until words, whispers, came back that Anna Maria Verdugo had captured three men's hearts...Ricardo del Amo's (a familiar face in Los Angeles from back when he just a boy) Diego de la Vega's...and Zorro's.

Margarita had hated hearing about it. Why on earth would Diego do such a foolish thing as to fall for someone who loved Zorro, just as it had happened with Rosarita? Did he truly love Anna Maria? What was different about her?

Zorro had been offered amnesty. She remembered the day that the messenger had torn into the pueblo, telling all about it.

He'd refused, but after the hour was up, he'd come for Anna Maria; spirited her away on his white horse (Margarita had always thought it was black) and taken her for a ride.

Margarita didn't really care. She'd waited on tenterhooks for Diego's return...and now she saw it, present in his walk, his talk, his face.

His heart had been broken. One woman had managed to make him feel, and, perhaps as divine justice for all of the hearts he'd broken along his merry way, she'd torn his apart.

But why? Why Zorro? How had they even both been in Monterey at the same time?

Margarita completely gave up then. She was tired of thinking about it; she was plain tired. She didn't want to get married. She didn't want to give up her father, her home, her comfort. She didn't want to give up waking in her mother's house. She would do anything to run from the thought of leaving, of more men coming in and disappointing her, or being disappointed by her. She didn't want to be caught. She didn't want to be a prize. She didn't want Diego to look at her as he had probably looked at Anna Maria...she didn't want to see him in love. Not even with her. She had moved past him. She didn't want to restart that whole process.

And then everything had changed.

Her tired heart had been awoken by a man who was no different than other men...and yet worlds apart.

His words made her heart sing. His eyes made her skin tingle with awareness. His touch made her jump.

There was an attraction to him, no doubt about it. There was a sense that she'd finally met Diego's match, someone who could rise above him, be more intense.

Diego's _uncle_ , Estevan de la Cruz.

But, like most men, he disappointed. That first evening had been heaven.

The next day hadn't let her down either.

And then he'd said it _. You and Diego._ He'd brought everything back, everything crashing around her.

She couldn't stand it.

But he'd given her something, too. He'd made her realize that, if there were steps to take, she was the one who had to take them.

So now she was.

Margarita dismounted Ave and walked towards Diego, her footsteps quiet on the creek's bank.

Diego looked up, and he was surprised to see her.

"Am I intruding?" She asked, slipping slightly on the wet ground.

In an instant, he was there beside her, grabbing her elbow. "No, I'm just surprised to see you here," he said. "I thought...I thought my uncle was going over to your hacienda."

"He just wanted to see my father," Margarita confessed, letting him guide her to a rock she could sit on.

"Oh, that's surprising news," Diego said. He sat next to her, surprisingly close, but then, there weren't many seating options here if one didn't want mud on their clothes.

"Maybe," Margarita whispered. She listened to rush of the water as it wended its way through the pasture and the hill.

Diego didn't speak.

"I always wanted to ask you something, since you returned," Margarita began.

"What? You didn't need to wait this long," Diego said.

"Since you returned from Monterey," Margarita corrected.

Diego raised an eyebrow.

"We in Los Angeles heard all about it, you know," Margarita began. "About Anna Maria and Zorro…"

"What does that have to do with me?" Diego wondered.

"You loved her too, didn't you?" Margarita asked.

Diego looked up at her, and Margarita looked resolutely away.

"Why do you ask?"

"Because I want to know what it's like to be in love, to...feel something," she said, surprising herself. That was not why she'd come here at all...and here she was, baring her soul to him, something she'd always vowed to not do.

"Oh, Margarita," Diego murmured. "Your heart never recovered from losing your mother, did it?"

Margarita only shook her head, now unable to speak.

"So that is why you have led the men of the pueblo on such a merry chase all these years," Diego said cheerfully. He sounded relieved. "You simply didn't love them."

She shrugged, mute.

"Why don't you tell me how you feel right now?" Diego asked. "About..whoever you might have feelings for."

She thought his question over, swallowing a few times, trying to rid herself of the lump in her throat.

"I feel nervous," she began. "Like I'll say the wrong thing."

Diego nodded. "Because you always want to be seen as your best," he agreed. "That can be a big part of it."

"I'm sad when he doesn't pay attention to me, but when he does, it's like being put over hot coals," Margarita confessed. "It's excruciating."

"Ah, I know how that feels," Diego agreed.

"And yet, it's easy to talk to them," Margarita continued, her voice slowing down. She began to wonder what situation she was talking about. "I find myself telling them all sorts of things that I wouldn't normally tell. I can't control my tongue: if I want something, I blurt it out. I can't help but see everything they touch as...magical, somehow."

Diego nodded. "Who is it, though?"

Margarita didn't speak for a long moment. "You wouldn't believe me if I said," she began, and then stood up, her legs tangling around themselves. She stepped over his legs and walked swiftly back to Ave.

"Margarita, where are you going?" Diego asked.

She leapt onto Ave's back, not looking behind her as she rode off.

* * *

Margarita had been riding for a long time, not even daring to steer Ave towards home, when a horse approached hers.

Before she knew it, they were racing. She looked out of the corner of her eye, and she saw a black cape, a mask.

And she urged Ave ever onward, moving her mare over impossible jumps and tricks. Ave had never done such things before but she didn't hesitate when told to by her mistress.

Margarita realized that she was racing Zorro, and she even considered the thought that she might be winning.

And then she was home.

Zorro rode past the hacienda, his hand going to his hat brim in a salute as he went past her.

So. He hadn't been chasing her. He'd merely been herding her.

Margarita felt very weary that night, indeed.


	7. The Way He Changes His Mind

**_Estevan de la Cruz_**

Really, it had surprised him when Margarita had left him all alone on his way to see her father. Si, he had rather dismissed her, but that didn't mean that he'd wanted or expected her to abandon him like that.

It had quite colored his whole conversation with Don Marcos. All he wanted was to talk about the diamond mine, and he had gone quite a way in his conversation, but all he could think about was Margarita.

Turning and leaving him there.

Was she so disinterested already?

This did not bode well. She had to fall in love with Diego; that was quickly becoming a more urgent mission to Estevan. After all, if his diamond mine mission was financed, who knew how soon he'd have to leave to find it?

He arrived back at the de la Vega hacienda in a mood that wasn't much better than the one Diego had left him in that morning, and throughout dinner, he was uncharacteristically quiet.

He could feel Alejandro shooting nervous glances at him; perhaps expecting another plot was on Estevan's brain and he was only being quiet to hold back talking about it.

Well, there was another plot. But the more he considered it, the more that Estevan didn't really care for it.

He picked at his food: Jacinta had prepared an excellent meal and, for once, he didn't feel Cresencia's glaring eyes on him. She'd finally given up on trying to guilt him into...into what?

Estevan didn't even care.

He finished dinner and dismissed himself, wandering out onto the patio.

Don Marcos had shown mild interest in the mine, but more in the story. As the day went on, Estevan had realized that he had no interest in actually investing in it, and he'd graciously bowed out of the situation, planning on riding over to the Linares'. He knew that Guillermo would show a bit more interest.

But he'd been too distracted. The way that Margarita had so easily left him standing there had disquieted him until he was dismounting his horse, going among the flowers.

He found himself picking a bouquet, and then felt rather at a loss about what to do with it. He ended up presenting it to Isabella, who surveyed him with a rather suspicious look before going to fetch her father.

They'd shared the conversation: Isabella ended up arguing for her father investing in the mine quite eagerly. Estevan had thought to feel triumph over this; she was such a stubborn young senorita at first. To see her on his side now, well, it made his chest swell with pride.

Or it would have.

Had his mind not been occupied on other things. A lot of other things.

Or maybe just one.

Margarita.

The night's moon was high above, barely a sliver in the sky. He reflected that it would be two whole weeks before Los Angeles had a full moon.

He began to reflect how those two weeks might be spent. Indeed, he could try to find investors for his diamond mine. He could hook Don Guillermo into it, line and sinker included.

He could dance with Isabella, finally giving into her request that he let her throw a party for him.

But.

 _But._

He could also focus on something else. On romance.

His mind went to Margarita and she took on a new light in his mind. She was suddenly vivacious (she had always been, but never quite so full of life). She was impossible and always out of reach.

But he remembered how he'd said her name, and how she'd stopped; turned to look behind her.

He remembered tales of all of the proposals she'd declined.

Oh, he would be the first man she accepted.

The thought surprised him and he stopped to consider for a moment whether she would be just another conquest.

Then he remembered why exactly he'd gone to her father first in search of investors...he remembered the men who bet on him in the race...he remembered the men he'd tried to make buy the fake jewels that had first been his ticket to a fortune here in California…

Don Marcos was rich. He was rich and he was great friends with Estevan. He trusted him implicitly. While he had no interest in investing in a diamond mine, he was simply not that kind of man.

He was, however, the kind of man to give his daughter in marriage to a man who loved her...a man who was not, however people spun it, a man of his age.

He didn't consider himself one, at least.

Estevan picked a blossom from the tree above him, inhaling it deeply.

"Uncle? What are you doing?" Diego asked, coming out to see him standing there, alone in the dark. "Are you feeling better after this morning? You seemed...down."

"I feel very good," Estevan murmured. "I feel new life in my veins."

"I don't think my father would be glad to hear that," Diego chuckled, stepping closer.

"He doesn't need to worry, it won't yet concern him," Estevan assured Diego. He indeed felt something course through his veins that he hadn't felt in a while as he patted his nephew on the shoulder. "I need to thank you, of course, Diego."

"For what?" Diego asked, freezing in place.

Estevan barely noticed, barely cared. "For being so slow in action," Estevan said. "You may have just given me my best chance at a fortune."

"Oh, Don Guillermo wants to invest in the diamond mine?" Diego asked.

"You could say that I've found an investor, si," Estevan said. "Buenos noches, Diego. I need my sleep."

"Of course, buenos noches," Diego said absently, and Estevan bounded up to bed. Really, life was going to be wonderful.

He'd always loved California. He wasn't sure why he'd never before considered living here permanently. Then again, there had never been such a draw.

 ** _Diego de la Vega_**

Diego didn't like this at all.

It had been two weeks and Estevan hadn't mentioned his diamond mine since that night. And every day he saddled up Prisa and went off on an adventure, adventures that Diego was no longer welcome on.

At first, Diego paid no mind. After all, Estevan was bound to get bored sometime, and who really cared if he managed to hook an investor? It was doubtful that any don would actually give him the money without letting it be known, so then Zorro could take care of it when it actually got to be a problem. And there was no way that Estevan wouldn't let it eventually slip if he'd actually found an investor.

So Diego went about his usual business, as did Senor Zorro.

Diego wrote poetry, conducted business for his father, played songs, attended parties and slept too late the next day.

On those same nights, Zorro had a tendency to help the downtrodden vaqueros, struggling in the midst of a drought. All of the farms in Los Angeles that didn't have a regular water supply were troubled, and it had become a contest to keep the ones that did have a water supply fair.

There was one in particular, Miguel Roverto. Oh, Zorro felt so sorry for Miguel, and wanted to help him so much.

Diego had a little trouble, but Zorro, that rascal, he managed to get Miguel to accept a little help. After all, the man had children; a wife. Zorro talked him into accepting some money, and then Zorro was the one who saw the pure joy in Miguel's eyes when it finally rained in California, in the pueblo de Los Angeles.

That was a beautiful moment, riding away in the rain and knowing that everyone's lives had just been improved by something that he hadn't even done; that all trouble would briefly be eradicated from the pueblo.

Si, for a time, both Diego and Zorro were perfectly content to live on as they had always.

And then, one night Zorro saw Estevan sneaking out on a ride. Zorro, an admittedly nosy fellow where Diego was most definitely not, decided to follow Estevan, and was struck rather dumb when Estevan stopped at the Cortazar hacienda.

 ** _Zorro_**

Zorro watched in silence as Estevan pulled out a guitar and began to play a song beneath Margarita's window, until the senorita in question came out to her balcony as requested by the song.

 _If you hear my romance in the air_

 _Come, to the window, senorita fair_

 _If you delight in my music tonight_

 _Throw me a kiss from your lips_

Zorro folded his arm at that lyric. Any senorita would come to their window if bade, at least to see who was there. But Margarita was a practical woman, and would not fall for Estevan's trickery and vague compliments.

Yet there she was, looking more beautiful than he'd ever seen her. He remembered how Diego had danced with her that first night Estevan was visiting, how much the moonlight had complimented Margarita then.

She looked beautiful in moonlight. She looked impossibly different, ethereal, magical.

He'd never been so surprised, not even on a similar night, when it was a different senorita who came to a window…dressed in blue, as surprised to see Diego as he was to see her…

That surprise didn't match the surprise he felt in the moment when Margarita picked up a flower (did every senorita in Los Angeles have roses trailing up to their windows?) and just looked for a moment at Estevan.

"I thought I told you last night that father doesn't like being awoken so late," Margarita commented as Estevan's song came to a close. "It's not that he minds you serenading me, it's that he doesn't like it that he can hear too."

"Margarita, I could no more stay away than I could sleep on a night like this," Estevan enthused. "Not when you are the one before me, not when the promise of your beauty is what takes me forward, pulls me on, to be beneath your balcony every night."

Margarita smiled, dimples showing in her lovely face. "Estevan, you are so complimentary."

"There is only one thing that I ask of you tonight, Margarita, one thing!" Estevan said. "Throw me a flower."

"You can reach some roses; they grow at the bottom too," Margarita said simply and Zorro, satisfied, almost rode away then and there.

"Ah, but they do not satisfy the song requirements," Estevan returned, voice sly.

"You've been singing a different version of that song every night," Margarita said, and Zorro almost missed her words, as they were spoken in a soft voice.

His heart thudded to hear her say them. What did she mean?

"Estevan, you have been so persistent, I am almost convinced," Margarita said.

With that, she pressed the rose to her lips.

Zorro's heart skipped a beat, a painful beat, before starting to beat at an uncomfortably fast rhythm when she threw the rose down to Estevan.

"You reward me far beyond what is my due," Estevan said, inhaling the rose's aroma as he looked up at her.

"I know," Margarita returned. "Nevertheless, I do. Buenos noches, and please, Estevan, do not return tomorrow night."

"I'll be here much earlier than tomorrow night," Estevan vowed as Margarita slipped into her room, closing the windows for extra measure.

Zorro rode away before he could be discovered, trying to fool himself into believing that he was only troubled on Margarita's behalf. No woman should be so unlucky as to actually far for his flighty uncle! No, he'd better try to convince her that Estevan was not the man for her.

But who was? If he was the first to capture Margarita's interest…indeed, as far back as Zorro could remember (which wasn't very far, considering that he'd only existed for two years or so) Margarita had never shown especial interest in any man.

Not even an outlaw like himself. Unlike Moneta, or Rosarita, or even Anna Maria in Monterey, she'd never fallen for the outlaw, never asked after him or brought him up during parties. She was quite indifferent to him, and even after he'd filched the jewels from Estevan, she'd only brought them up in conjunction to Estevan, not really caring that it had been Zorro to steal them, when Moneta had brought up that fact no less than once per conversation every time Diego saw her.

No, even Zorro did not hold Margarita's interest.

But that didn't mean that he couldn't, did it?

Zorro shook his head as soon as the thought came into it. No, he would never play that game again. It hurt Diego far too much to watch a woman fall in love with Zorro. He'd never again put Diego's feelings aside merely to capture a woman's interest. He'd betrayed himself in Monterey, he knew that now. Only an idiota would be so callous as to disregard the feelings of a dear friend and pursue a lady for himself.

So si, Zorro had treated Diego very badly in Monterey, and considering that they were much closer than usual friends…well, Diego had had a hard time forgiving Zorro, except for the fact that Diego knew it was equally his fault.

Si, this was most troubling. Zorro was not the man that Margarita sought, but neither could he let her end up with Estevan.

He reached the cave and dismounted, unsaddling Tornado and giving a sudden thought to the horse he'd brought back from Monterey, right now hidden in the hills under the care of a trusted old Indian friend.

He could run like the wind on Phantom's back.

Margarita was a great one for riding. She'd love to fly on the back of a white horse.

Zorro took off the mask as he walked up the stairs, trying to shake all naïve thoughts from his head as he did so.

Margarita would not fall for Zorro. If she fell for Zorro, if Zorro romanced her so that she would, then he might as well stand aside and let her fall for Estevan, since neither of them was likely to commit to anything.


	8. The Way They Move Together

_**Margarita Cortazar**_

Margarita sighed as she woke up, stretching her arms above her head. Life was good right now. She was happy.

The day stretched out before her, and she happily contemplated the likely events: Estevan coming over, like he had almost every day in the past few weeks.

She jumped from the bed, humming the song he'd been trying to finish composing.

 _Mi amor._

 _Dadadada_

 _Mi amor…_

She wondered when he'd finish it, for then he'd run out of the excuse of needing to see her to finish it, and think of a new one.

She looked at herself in the mirror, seeing the smile on her face.

She wondered what his new excuse would be.

She wondered if he'd ever manage to ask her a question.

She studied herself, before laughing at how silly she was being and taking up her hairbrush to brush her long hair.

For the first time in her life, she could picture leaving home, perhaps even Los Angeles, perhaps even California. She could picture traveling gladly, going to new places bravely and boldly, all because a certain man would be by her side.

If he asked. He would ask, wouldn't he? Why else would he be coming around so frequently, so insistently? So boldly and intentionally?

Her eyes looked solemn in the mirror and she sank down into her chair. Maybe that was just Estevan's character, though. Maybe he'd just leave, one of these days.

She bit her lip, not liking where her thoughts were going. She wondered if her mother had ever felt like this, like she could do anything simply because she had the right man by her side.

But…was Estevan by her side? Truly? Would he stand by her, through thick and thin?

She scolded herself for letting her thoughts go there. Estevan wouldn't do that to her. He wouldn't. He was being serious, he was ready.

 _ **Estevan de la Cruz**_

Estevan left the hacienda early that morning, whistling as he rode to the Cortazar hacienda. This courtship was going wonderfully. And he wasn't even approaching Don Marcos about the diamond mine; he did not have to. He was gradually realizing that if he married Margarita (well, it didn't hurt to theorize) that he would be just as wealthy than as if he plumbed the depths of a diamond mine. Especially because there was no risk with Margarita.

He remembered how starry eyed she got when she looked at him, how big her smile was.

Ah, yes. Today was the day, he felt it in his bones. He'd ride over, have breakfast, go for a ride. He'd watch how eagerly she let him follow her, how quickly she stopped when he asked.

Ah yes. She would be good for him.

He'd decided that marriage didn't necessarily equate boredom. There were many exciting things in California, new things to do. Being married would not take any of that away.

And what better person to marry than Margarita Cortazar? A senorita young enough to appreciate the wild side of him, but old enough to know her own mind.

Yes, he liked the women in California.

He reached her hacienda in record time (Prisa was finally behaving like the stallion he was supposed to be) and raced inside to find Margarita there.

"You are not dressed for our ride," he exclaimed, halting in surprise.

"It's nice to see you too," Margarita returned, her eyes lighting up. She wore a green dress; long sleeves, full skirt. "Ave has a bit of a limp from yesterday. I think she needs a few days to rest."

"Oh, I see now," Estevan said, ambling forward. "You, uh, did not tell me this last night."

She glanced at him in surprise; he'd never before mentioned the serenades in the day time. It was almost like they had pretended that they did not exist.

"I did not know last night," she replied, her eyes large and solemn.

"I don't know what I'm supposed to be doing right now," Estevan whispered, reaching her. He took her hand in his (it was a small hand, with telltale calluses from Ave's reins on the her palm) and brought it up to his lips.

She studied him, not moving, barely breathing.

"Because we aren't riding?" She wondered aloud.

"I was planning on preparing you for a question," he told her, pressing a kiss to her wrist.

She seemed to stop breathing altogether. He hadn't kissed her hand since his first night here; since they'd danced together.

"What question?" She whispered.

He pressed her hand to his cheek. "Well, I don't want to spoil the surprise of the moment," he told her, the jovial tone back in his voice.

"Of course," she said, slipping her hand away from him rather fiercely. "Should I fetch my father?"

"No, no, I don't need to see him today," Estevan insisted. "We could just talk, Margarita."

"About what?" She wondered.

"I could tell you about my travels," Estevan said.

"I think you already have," Margarita commented.

"I have been many places," Estevan protested. "I haven't told you about all of them."

"Isn't it ever my turn to do the talking?" Margarita queried and Estevan blinked at her.

"Whatever do you mean? Do I talk over you, Margarita?"

"No, never mind," Margarita sighed.

He studied her carefully as she moved about the patio; she was checking the rose bushes for bugs, he realized. What an unromantic task.

He jumped up and plucked a red rose from a bush, pressed the blossom to his lips and handed it to her, trying to make her recall last night's serenade.

She looked at it rather blankly, as if not wanting to remember.

"What's this for?" She asked.

"You," he said.

"Why?" She challenged, not taking it, and instead turning away from him to check another rose.

Estevan breathed out in a huff of frustration. What was Margarita doing? Where had he gone wrong?

"Fine, I'll ask it now," he said, and went down on one knee. "Margarita, I have never met a woman like you."

She whirled to face him, skirts flying out and brushing his legs in a sensual moment that both of them felt. Her hands started to shake, and she reached behind her for a chair. "What are you doing?" She asked.

"You know what I am doing," he said simply. "I have never experienced the emotions I am feeling right now. Margarita, I have never asked another woman this question."

"Do you swear it?" She whispered, her eyes meeting his gaze and holding it for such an intense moment that Estevan's mouth went dry and he couldn't speak until he broke away from her glance.

"I do," he told her. "I want this life, with you, and Margarita, will you marry me? If your father agrees, of course."

She was just staring at him, her huge eyes drinking him in. He felt like he could fall into her eyes, her brown eyes, her sparkling eyes.

Her dress was open necked; he could see her throat and neck working, he could see her trying to speak and failing.

He reached out to take one of her hands. "Margarita," he whispered, pressing a kiss to it. This time she didn't pull it away. This time she offered the other hand.

"Estevan," she whispered. "I will."

He felt his life flash in front of his eyes, as though everything had led to this moment. "Do you swear it?" He wondered, parroting her earlier words.

She was nodding, she was smiling, she was pulling him to his feet. "Si, si, Estevan, I do."

Estevan had kissed a lot of women in his life but he'd never felt so nervous as in that moment. He moved closer to her, his legs meeting hers. Her skirt billowed around their legs and he gathered her to him.

"Permit me this one liberty, in case your father declines my suit and we never again get the chance," he whispered, just inches away from her lips.

She nodded. "I—"

Their lips met.

Estevan had kissed a lot of women in his life but never had it so rocked his world as kissing Margarita did.


End file.
